


The Road Not Taken

by hypercuboid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexuality, Castiel Has Self-Worth Issues (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester is Loved, Disability, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Meta, Physical Therapy, everyone has a lot of self worth issues lol, theres cute stuff in this fic but you have to struggle first to earn it, trust is a theme in this fic so trust me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28557396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypercuboid/pseuds/hypercuboid
Summary: 15x20 but Sam actually calls for help while Dean is dying.Dean is left incapacitated, struggling to come to terms with his inability to hunt, while also struggling with his feelings for Castiel. Where is Cas, anyway? Sam is left to hunt on his own. But Dean isn't out of danger yet. Something wants him dead, and it's still out there.Sam tries his best. Jack is a #coolboss. Cas is gay and useless. Charlie is also gay, but helpful. Dean is... alive, for now.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

With a thud, the vampire falls to the floor.

“Alright, let’s go find those kids,” Sam says.

“Sam. I don’t think I’m going anywhere.” Dean tries to stay poised, for Sam’s sake, but he can’t help but wince. 

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s something in my back. It feels like it’s right through me.” Like his entire insides are carved out. With every beat of his heart, his flesh contracts around the spike - torturous pulses that drain the life from his body. Sam touches the wound. When his hand withdraws, it’s covered in a glistening garnet red.

“Okay, I gotcha,” Sam says, reaching to pull Dean off the rebar. Just the touch of Sam’s hand sends white hot pain shooting through his back.

“No no no, don’t move me. Don’t move me,” Dean grunts. “It feels like this thing’s holding me together right now. Just give me a minute.” 

Dean tries desperately to convince himself that he’s fine. Of course he’s fine - How many times has he come a hair’s breadth away from death and survived? How many times has he been bruised, broken, torn open, and shredded? He’s no stranger to this. Then again, how many times has that survival relied on some cosmic intervention, by luck or by God or by Cas? There’s no one here to save him now. No one but Sam and his desperate, scrambling attempts to stop what is already in motion. The reality of Dean’s situation sets in. There is no coming away from this. After everything, he’s going to die here.

“Okay, I’ll call for help. I’ll get the first aid kit,” Sam says. Dean tries to protest, but he’s too weak. The words start in his gut and hold there, as if they’re being pinned there along with him.

Dean’s ears are ringing. He can just barely make out the sound of Sam’s voice shouting on the phone. Sam yells something that Dean can’t make out. It’s muffled. Dean doesn’t remember it being so dark in here. His vision fills with static. It loses color. He fades.

Dean flows in and out of consciousness. He has to struggle to hold on. He sees figures - hunters - gathering the bodies of the dead vampires. Dean can barely make this out through the dark blotches in his vision. The bodies dragging across the hay sound like crushed polystyrene. Pain shoots through his legs and abdomen. The rest of his body is tingly and numb, cold and buzzing. It hurts to breathe. He’d rather not. Fade out.

Fade in. When Dean’s vision clears again, Sam is kneeling down beside him. Dean tries desperately to look at him, but eyes won’t focus. He needs to see his face, to get one last look at his baby brother while he still has the chance, but he can’t. All he gets is a warm hand on the small of his back, and a wiggle of the metal spike that feels like lightning ripping through him. Fade out. 

Fade in. Sam cradles Dean like a baby, stumbling out of the barn towards the impala. The jostle of each step is excruciating. Sam mutters something to him that sounds like words of comfort, but Dean can’t hear. Two hunters help out, holding the door open and guiding Dean’s limp body into the back seat. The cool upholstery is soothing against his cheek. In the distance, a dark figure stands and watches, waiting. Fade out.

Dean wonders how long it will take to get to Heaven this time. As each second ticks on he waits for that tunnel of light, ready to sprint. At this point he’ll settle for no goodbye - He’s given enough already to last a thousand lifetimes. He just wants the pain to stop. 

And then it does. It feels like slipping into a pleasant dream. It’s smooth, like drifting through warm water. It’s the sun, radiating on every patch of skin that had once been buried in the cold, wet desolation. It feels like being safe. It feels like being loved. 

It lasts for a moment, and then it’s ripped from him. Blaring lights, frantic voices. The whole world stings. It’s shocking and abrasive and loud. He can’t stand it. Then all at once, it retracts. He is soothed once again, and he is floating. It comes in bursts - existence interrupting his peace. Chaos and calm. He can’t tell if what he sees is reality or a dream. A voice asks him something. He agrees. White lights. Faces hovering over him. Faces he doesn’t recognize. _Sam. Jack?_ Darkness.

Death is a warm embrace, and Dean slips from its arms. 

Dean’s eyes open. The cool air stings and makes them water. He finds himself in a white room. It smells of disinfectant, mixed with the blood still lingering in his nose. There’s buzzing and beeping and distant chatter, and the sound of clacking footsteps on linoleum. The blinding assault of fluorescent lights is broken by a blurry, oversized shadow - Sam. He paces back and forth, combing his fingers nervously through his floppy hair. He notices Dean’s stirring, and comes rushing to his side. With that, his face comes into focus at last. Big puppy-dog eyes and a dumb expression of wonder.

“Dean?”

“Howdy Sammy,” Dean croaks. The pain in his back is dull now, and he feels sleepy. It’s the kind of grogginess that one gets after sleeping in on a winter morning. Sam sighs in relief, and cracks a half-smile. 

“You had me worried there,” Sam says.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Dean says with a weak grin. He glances around at the machinery and tubing attached to him. He tries to push himself up, and instantly regrets it.

“Woah woah woah,” Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Relax, we don’t have anywhere to be.”

A woman in a white coat walks in.

“He’s awake,” Sam tells her. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, and it turns out I can speak, too,” Dean adds.

“Dean Smith?” The doctor asks.

“In the flesh,” Dean replies.

“I’m Dr. Khan. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been worse.”

“That was quite the accident you had. Your brother told me you tripped and fell on a piece of rebar while you were,” she flips through her notepad. “Playing baseball?” Dean flashes a look at Sam, who shrugs.

“Yeah, big baseball fan over here,” Dean says. She raises her eyebrows, and moves on.

“We patched up the injury for you while you were unconscious, with your brother’s consent,” she continues. “There are stitches that you’ll have to come back and have removed in two weeks’ time. In the meantime, we put you on morphine, so you shouldn’t be in too much pain, but if you think it’s bad we can up your dose. I’ll also prescribe an oral painkiller for when you’re discharged.”

“Sweet.”

“We weren’t able to access your records - have you received your tetanus shot or a recent booster shot?” she asks. Dean sucks on his teeth. He had been vaccinated, once... And then he died, and came back, and then died again a few times. Who knows what that does to a person’s immune system. He really isn't sure.

“None of the above,” he says.

“Okay, we’ll need to do that, and give you some antibiotics,” she says, scribbling on her notepad. “Could you try to move your legs for me?”

Dean starts to respond when he realizes that no, he can’t move. He manages to prop himself up on his arms, but his legs can barely manage a wiggle. He tenses his muscles, but his legs are too heavy.

“What the hell? What’s wrong with my legs?” Dean looks frantically between the doctor and Sam. Doctor Khan’s expression is not reassuring.

“We need to do an MRI scan to be sure,” she says. “I’ll get you a wheelchair.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Sam softly says to Dean. Dr. Khan presses a button by the bed, calling a nurse.

A moment later Sam is helping to lift Dean from his bed, his legs sliding across the hospital sheets, and being deposited into an ugly hospital wheelchair. He hates being manhandled like this, but there’s not much he can do. Not before long he’s inside of a clunky, whirring machine. There come flashes of bright light and the loud thunk thunk thunk of the magnet. It sounds like the hollow beating of wings. He thinks of Cas.

\---

Dean is back in his hospital bed. Doctor Khan is explaining something to him, but he can barely pay attention. He keeps playing the fight over in his head. He could have reacted sooner. He could have stepped to the side. He hears the doctor say the words “lucky” and “incomplete,” but the latter feels more accurate. She says that it’s a good sign that he has some movement in his legs, and that there’s reason to be hopeful. She prescribes pills. Sam is polite and understanding and it pisses Dean off. This whole thing pisses him off. He wishes he could stand up and march out of there.

But eventually he is rolled out. Outside, the stars twinkle, and cool air brushes against Dean’s face. It smells like wood burning, and stings his nose. A smattering of lamp posts illuminate the cracked gravel of the parking lot. Sam helps Dean into the passenger seat of the impala - manhandled again. Dean doesn’t want help, but he gets it. Soon they’re on the road.

“Are you doing okay?” Sam asks naively. He’s doing that voice he uses on cases, when talking to the families of victims - Faux sympathy in a soft tone, a milky sheen of innocence. It doesn’t work on Dean.

“Sure, just peachy,” Dean grunts. He looks out the window with his arms crossed.

“I know it’s not ideal, but it could be a lot worse. The doctor says you got lucky.”

“Lucky? How is this lucky?” Dean roars. “I’m out of commission Sammy. My damn legs don’t work. What am I supposed to do, roll over a werewolf’s toes?”

“Look, Bobby went through the same thing, remember?” Sam says. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah and Bobby got healed, by Crowley. I’m not about to give some demon sonofabitch a nibble at my soul just to walk again.”

“Maybe we can heal you some other way.”

“How, Sammy? How. Tell me, please. Because last I checked, our get-out-of-jail-free card was dead.”

Sam sighs.

“How are you handling that, by the way? Cas being gone.”

“Not great,” Dean says.

“Do you have any ideas?”

“What, on how to get him back? I don’t know, Sam, why don’t we take a vacation to the Empty and ask for him back, nicely.”

“We could ask Jack.”

“Oh, have you two been texting?”

“I’m just saying, we have God in our corner here. Maybe he could do something about Cas, or about your legs.”

“Well, you see how that goes and let me know,” Dean says. He pops a tape in the tape player and plays it too loudly.

“You know, Dean, you don’t need to -” Sam starts. Dean raises the volume and drowns out his voice.

“What?” Dean mouths, pointing to his ear. “I can’t hear you.”

Sam huffs. He keeps his mouth shut the whole rest of the ride.

They arrive at the bunker. Sam turns the keys, and the impala’s engine shudders to a stop. He gets out of the car. Dean doesn’t. He sits there, with his arms across his chest. Sam opens the passenger seat door and helps Dean into his wheelchair. Sam helps a lot, and it’s irritating. They take the elevator down. 

Miracle bounds towards them and pounces on Dean, panting and letting his tongue loll out of his mouth. Dean mutters an affectionate greeting and squeezes Miracle’s ears. For a brief moment, he feels better. He cracks a small smile, but it quickly fades. He pushes Miracle off of him.

“I’m gonna go pass out,” Dean says.

“Sure, okay,” Sam says. “I’ll take Miracle out. Need anything before I go?”

“No,” Dean says.

Dean goes to his room and shuts the door behind him. With a huff, he places the rattling pill bottles on his bedside table. Bottles of beer litter the floor. Dean picks one up, and pops it open with a knife, and takes a swig. The bubbles fizzing against his lips comfort him. He takes a few more gulps, then sets the empty bottle down on the floor. It topples over and rolls under the bed. Dean sniffles and rubs his face in his hands, then lets out a deep sigh. 

He goes to his dresser, and opens the top drawer. Inside is a khaki jacket, with a hand print seared into the shoulder. Dean runs his own hand across it. He slots his hands between the folds and carefully lifts it up and out of the drawer. He buries his face in it and yells. The sound is muffled by the fabric. Dean leans forward, breathing heavily into the jacket, scrunching it up between his fists. It still smells singed. With a slow exhale, Dean pulls the jacket away from his face. He neatly refolds it, smoothing out the wrinkles, and returns it to the dresser. He closes the drawer.

\---

Sam is outside the bunker. His boots sink into the ground, sheltered by wet, rust colored leaves. Tethered by a leash, Miracle bounds ahead, mud clinging to the ends of his fur. Sam makes a mental note to give him a bath when they get home. The cold night air is sharp - it numbs Sam’s fingers and turns his nose red. With each exhale, a puff of smoke escapes his mouth. 

The woods neighboring the bunker are perfect for a dog, but the desolate quiet is perfect for Sam. He’s still uneasy from the car ride back from the hospital, from Dean’s anger. Sam knows that Dean feels hopeless, and since Dean tends to let his emotions burn hot, that hopelessness necessarily turns into frustration. It’s no wonder Dean lashed out - that frustration needs somewhere to go. Sam reminds himself that Dean is probably just as angry at himself as he is at Sam, if not more. Sam, on the other hand, is still in the problem-solving phase of adversity. Maybe it’s out of relief that his brother is still alive, and by such a narrow margin, but hopelessness has not yet managed to sink its claws into him.

Sam’s phone rings. His fingers are stiff, so he fumbles to retrieve the phone from his pocket. The caller ID says Jodie. Sam answers.

“Hello?”

“Sam? Where’s Dean?” Jodie asks. She sounds distressed.

“He’s in the bunker. I think he’s sleeping,” Sam replies. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Patience had a vision - she saw Dean get killed.”

“What?”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah he’s fine - what else did Patience see?” 

There’s commotion on the other end of the line. Sam hears Claire and Patience ranting to Jodie, talking over each other. Seeing he’s stopped walking, Miracle rushes over and jumps up against Sam’s legs with muddy paws. 

“That’s a relief. I’ll let you talk to Patience. Here,” Jodie says.

A pause.

“Sam?” comes Patience’s voice.

“Patience. Hi.”

“Is Dean okay?”

“He’s fine, he’s fine. Tell me about this vision - what did you see?”

“It was you and Dean - you were in a barn, it looked like, and this man, or monster I guess - he was wearing a mask that looked like a skull - he pushed Dean against something and it stabbed him, through the back.”

“Patience, that already happened.”

“Oh my god - is Dean -?”

“No, he’s okay! Like I said. I mean, his legs are paralyzed, but he’s alive.”

“I saw him die. He told you not to call for help, and then he died.”

“He didn’t tell me - No, Patience, I called for help. Other hunters came. We took him to the hospital. He’s home now.”

“Then why did -”

Patience is cut off. There’s more commotion on the other end of the line.

“Sam, is Dean dead?” It’s Claire’s voice this time.

“No, he’s alive,” replies Sam.

“What the fuck, Patience,” Claire yells, from a distance. “Awesome. Anyway, how ya doing?”

“I’m f-” There’s arguing on her end of the call.

“Hey, sorry about that,” Jodie says. “So what Patience saw in her vision already happened?”

“Yeah, except the difference is that I got help, and Dean survived,” Sam says. 

“So, things turned out differently, somehow.”

“But I thought premonitions like that were set in stone unless seeing it makes you change something.”

“I think that’s right,” Jodie says. “But did you and Dean know about this, right?”

“No, this is news to me.”

“Well, Patience certainly didn’t change anything.”

Sam’s heart sinks.

“Maybe someone else did.”

\---

Dean kneels on a hilltop. Wisps of lush grass quiver between his outstretched fingertips, soft like hair. The sky above is an undulating lilac-grey mass, heaving like a living creature, while the air is thick and oppressive. Rain sprays Dean’s face. The droplets cling to his lashes and magnify the freckles on his nose. Fog hugs the city below like a blanket. Dull pulses of flashing lights and the distant beeping of cars shows signs of life.

Dean pulls himself to his feet. He walks forward, higher up on the hill, and with each step his boot sinks slightly into the muddy ground. There’s something looming in the distance - Something sturdy, the size of a skyscraper, obscured by the mist. Dean squints and it comes into focus. A figure. A person. Oil-black wings.

“Castiel,” Dean calls out, but his voice gets lost in the wind. Castiel turns, his head lowered to look at the city below him. He extends his hand, palm facing downward. From it, a spotlight buzzes into fruition. It turns the fog over the city black, swirling and struggling and suffocating. A gust of wind passes over the hill, and with it the grass glistens in waves.

“Cas!” Dean calls out again. Castiel watches as the fog sinks lower into the cityscape. He lifts his head to face Dean. His eyes are closed.

“Cas?”

Castiel’s eyes snap open. They are blinding white.

\---

Dean jolts awake. HIs back is sore. He pushes himself up and unscrews a pill bottle, then shakes two into his palm and tosses them in his mouth. He does the same for the second bottle, and washes them down with a swig of stale beer. His mouth is dry, and he’s still wearing his clothes from the night before. He pushes himself off of the bed and into his wheelchair. 

Sam is finishing up his breakfast in the library - pancakes. Across from him, a place is set: fork, knife, plate covered with another plate. Dean enters the room, and Sam stands. He tries to help him to the table, but Dean shoos him away.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asks.

“How do you think,” Dean retorts. “Is there coffee?”

“Yeah it’s in the kitchen,” Sam says, glancing at the plate set out for Dean. Dean gives him a thumbs up as he turns and leaves. Sam follows.

“Your first PT session is Thursday.”

“Physical therapy? Are we really doing that?” 

“Well, you are. I really think you have a good chance of beating this thing.”

Dean’s wheels snag on a ledge. Sam helps him over it, to Dean’s annoyance.

“Anyway, I have a case in Manhattan,” Sam continues. “I’m thinking of heading out tomorrow.” 

“Wow - the big apple?”

“No, Manhattan Kansas, actually. A girl went missing last week. Turns out the college that she went to has a history of chickens getting stolen from their research center.”

“I don’t see the connection.”

“Well, in the past month, the animals going missing got bigger - pigs, horses, and then -

“Long pig,” Dean says, pouring a cup of coffee. 

“It could be nothing but -”

“Could be something,” Dean interjects. “I’ll come with.”

“Uhm, no you won’t,” Sam says. “You’re not exactly in fighting conditions.”

“I can handle it.”

“Dean, you can’t walk. What if this thing catches you.”

“I won’t let it. C’mon, you’re gonna leave me alone here? Really?”

“It’s dangerous!”

“Then you do the dangerous bits,” Dean takes a sip of the coffee. Bitter. “I’ll knock on doors and whatever other crap there is. I’m not staying here.”

“That’s - okay. Fine,” Sam concedes. There’s no way Dean will let up, so there’s no point in arguing. Dean wiggles his head in contentment.

\---

They head out the next morning. It’s a long drive to Manhattan, but not worse than anything they’re used to. They pass low-top houses and empty fields - miles of dull yellow and green, scattered with the odd patch of anemic trees. It’s sunny at first, but clouds creep in overhead as the hours pass. Telephone wires up soar and dip. Dean traces them with his eyeline. There’s not much to keep his mind occupied, save for the music (Fleetwood Mac. Sam’s choice.) They pass a scrapyard, the odd stray tire, old trucks, and rusty warehouses. A few grazing cattle are a highlight of the trip. Eventually the streets become shorter - more residential, with more trees. Young people stroll along the sidewalks.

They pull up in front of the main University building. Sam tosses Dean one of two blazers. They put them on, covertly fitting knives, guns, and stakes in every pocket or seam. They go up the ramp and flash their badges at a student who lets them in. Sam saunters up to the receptionist at the front desk - a fat woman with curly blonde hair and thick glasses. Dean makes sure to stay slightly ahead of Sam.

“Special -” Sam starts, lifting up his badge.

“Special agents Sheider and Dreyfuss,” Dean interrupts, slamming his badge against the glass barrier. “We’re investigating a missing person.”

“Her name is Angela Chalmers - she went to school here,” Sam says.

“Yes, that poor dear,” the receptionist. “I didn’t know her personally. You might have more luck talking to her sorority sisters.”

“Where can we find them?” Sam asks.

“I can give you an address,” she says, typing in her computer. “They’re at the Sigma Ta Delta house, just around the corner and down the block. One of them big yellow houses. Here.” 

She scribbles on a post-it and extends it to Sam. Dean snatches it.

“Do you have any information on the animals reported missing?” Dean asks. “Chickens, horses, that sort of thing.” The receptionist shakes her head and tuts.

“Those fraternity boys, always getting into trouble,” she says.

“How so?” Sam asks.

“The animal research department has had this problem for years - chickens getting stolen for initiation ceremonies - hazing. I don’t know why they decided to go bigger this time around. Boys will be boys, I guess,” she says with a shrug.

“Do you know where I can find them?” Sam asks.

“The chickens?”

“The - no, the fraternity members.”

“Same street as the girls. But the house right across from the address I gave you - that’s where Alpha Beta Omega lives. Those boys are trouble-makers. I’d start with them if I were you.”

“You’ve been very helpful, thank you,” Sam says.

“My pleasure. Good luck, you two,” she says.

They head back outside. As they leave, a tall blonde college girl passes by. She slows, and looks Dean up and down. Dean smirks, to which her expression falls. She fast-walks away. Sam chuckles, and grabs the post-it note from Dean. They follow the receptionist’s directions.

“So, I’ll check out the sorority house, you check out the fraternity,” Sam says.

“What? No way. I should be the one to talk to the sorority. Besides, college chicks love me.”

“Maybe they did before you were 40,” Sam retorts. Dean scoffs, offended.

“Look, you said you wanted to keep me out of danger, right?” Dean argues.

“I guess.”

“Well, these fraternity guys sound like bad news,” Dean says.

Sam sighs, and looks off at the houses.

“Look,” Dean continues. “I’ll just talk to the girls' friends, see if any of them have information. Easy.” 

“Okay. Fine,” Sam concedes. “I’ll meet you at the sorority house afterwards. But if I don’t show up -”

“I’ll know what to do,” Dean finishes. 

They diverge paths - Sam to the left, Dean to the right. Sam approaches the fraternity’s door, but waits to ring the bell. He turns and watches Dean, rolling up to the sorority house. Half-obscured by the spindly branches of a tree, the door opens, but Sam can’t see by who. Some words are exchanged, and Dean disappears into the house. Sam turns back around, and rings the bell.

There is yelling from inside, and stomping. The door is swung open by a young man - blonde, wearing a grey t-shirt and sweatpants. He leans on the doorframe.

“‘Sup,” the young man greets.

“Special Agent Scheider, FBI,” Sam says, holding up his badge.

“Yo Kyle,” the boy calls out to someone inside the house. “The feds are here for you.”

“Actually, I’m here investigating a missing person,” Sam replies.

“Oh, right. Angela,” the young man says, his demeanor becoming more solemn.

“Did you know her?”

“We all knew Angela. You’ll probably want to talk to Dylan, though. She’s his ex.”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” 

Sam enters the house. It’s humid and smells like body spray. He squeezes past a bicycle in the hallway as the young man leads him into the living room, where two other boys are hunched over on a ragged brown couch playing video games, accompanied by an upbeat soundtrack. When Sam walks in, the boy on the right slaps the other on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Dude, pause,” the boy says. The music stops.

“Special Agent Scheider,” Sam repeats. “Which one of you is Dylan?”

The boy on the right raises his hand. He has a round face and scraggly brown hair. There are circles under his eyes.

“You’re here about Angela,” he says.

“That’s right,” Sam replies. “What can you tell me about her disappearance?”

This comes off as more accusatory than Sam intends, but he can’t help but be suspicious of the ex-boyfriend - it’s always the ex-boyfriend. Sam goes to sit down, but the chair by the entryway is covered with a stack of books. The blonde boy who had opened the door moves them, and Sam sits.

“We broke up like a week before it happened,” Dylan says.

“Why did you break up?” 

The other boys chuckle, and Dylan shoots them a dirty look.

“It had been going really well,” Dylan explains. “She - we had disagreements. She said she was Christian and -”

“And she wouldn’t put out,” interjects the boy to his left.

“Shut up, Kyle,” Dylan says.

“Could you two give us some privacy?” Sam asks the other boys.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll get out of your hair,” the other one says, pulling Kyle the sleeve. 

Sam waits for them to leave. Once they do, he turns back to Dylan.

“You were saying you had disagreements. What were they?”

“Like I was saying, she was Christian. I liked that about her - we had a similar perspective on what we wanted our lives to look like. It’s rare to find something like that, y’know? But then she started getting into some weird stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Sam pries, leaning forward.

“Is this all… confidential?” Dylan asks nervously.

“Of course,” Sam says. Dylan gulps.

“The sorority was really slacking on their philanthropy. Not their fault, but the money just wasn’t coming in,” Dylan explains. “Well, sorta their fault. I tried the muffins - they weren’t great. It was no big deal. But then Angela started acting… differently.”

“Different how?”

“At first it was just talking about weird shit. Saying she found a way to make the sorority better. She sounded like she was in a cult. Her and all her sisters started wearing these rings, and Angela kept telling me about some guy who was helping her, Bellend or something,” Dylan says.

“...Bellend?”

“Or something like that,” Dylan replies. “She asked me to teach her how to get into the animal research centers - we have a thing, once a year, where we make pledges kill chickens.”

“Why?”

“It’s funny. Admin kinda knows about it - we’re not allowed to, but they let it slide because it’s tradition,” Dylan says. “Angela wouldn’t tell me why she wanted to do it too. I just figured the girls wanted in on the fun. But then I hear that, like, 5 chickens went missing. Then I hear about bigger animals - pigs and stuff. We got a ton of slack for that. I knew it was her, but I didn’t want to rat her out.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” Sam asks. Dylan sighs.

“I went over to the sorority house a few days before she officially went missing. It was… weird. The vibe was off. I think Katie was bleeding? Angela had stopped talking to me since the animal thing started happening. I didn’t know why. Katie told me that Angela wasn’t home, but I went in and she was there. Just… standing. I couldn’t see her face. Everyone was crowded around her. Like, all of the girls in the house were there. I called her name but she wouldn’t answer. She wouldn’t even look at me. Katie was just like, ‘she doesn’t want to see you,’ and pushed me out. And then a few days later I hear that she’s missing.”

Sam clenches his jaw, trying to maintain his poker face. His chest tightens. He made the wrong choice of house. Sam takes a deep breath, then nods and stands up.

“You’ve been a lot of help, thank you,” Sam says, already making his way to the door.

“Do you think you’ll be able to find her?” Dylan asks. Sam is half-way out the door.

“I can’t make any promises,” Sam says. Dylan’s expression is pleading. “But I’ll try.”

With that, Sam leaves. As soon as the door closes, he bolts across the street. He bangs on the door of the sorority house. No answer. He tries the doorknob. A click. The door creeps open. Sam marches through, leaving it wide open behind him. 

“FBI,” Sam calls out. No answer. He strides through the house, gun in hand. It’s neater than the fraternity house - all white furniture and polished wood. Floorboards creak beneath him. It smells of candles.

“SAM,” Sam hears in the distance. It’s faint, muffled, but undeniably Dean’s voice. Sam follows it to a doorway. Stairs to the basement. As he rounds the corner, he is met by the barrel of a gun, held by a girl - The same blonde girl who passed them by earlier.

“Hi Sam,” she says. “Hand it over.” 

Sam rolls his eyes and places the gun in her outstretched hand. She pockets it. Sam puts his hands in the air in defeat. The girl grabs him by the back of the neck, holding the gun to his head, and ushers him down the stairs, slamming the door behind them.

The basement is dingy - certainly less pristine than the upper part of the house. Concrete floors and torn, faded wallpaper. Scattered about are a CD player, notebooks, and sticks. In the corner, a chicken hops around a dog cage filled with straw. A space is cleared out in the center, where a pentagram is drawn on the floor. In the middle of it sits Dean, still in his wheelchair, his arms tied in front of him. There are two other girls standing there - one stands behind Dean with a knife pressed up against his neck.

“Hey, Sam. I see you’ve met Katie,” Dean says. “She’s a real firecracker, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” says Katie, gesturing the gun at Sam. “Olivia - tie him up.” 

One of the girls, the one without the knife, comes up behind him with a metal folding chair and a coil of rope. She pushes Sam into the chair by the shoulder and ties the rope around his middle, ankles, and hands.

“What do you want?” Sam asks.

“You know what we want, Sam Winchester,” Katie sneers. “We want you to bring them back.”

“You mean Angela?”

“Angela and Beleth,” Katie says.

“He doesn’t know - Sam, Beleth is the Demon possessing Angela,” Dean explains casually. Katie presses the gun against Sam’s temple, turning to Dean.

“What part of shut the fuck up don’t you understand?” Katie cries. “Rachel - show him what’s what.” Dean’s eyes widen and he clenches his jaw shut tight. Sam struggles against his restraints.

“I don’t feel comfortable hurting a disabled guy,” Rachel replies. Dean rolls his eyes. He slumps back in the chair.

“Katie, listen, we don’t know what happened to your friend,” Sam reasons. “You said you’re looking for her, right? Well so are we. If this Beleth guy possessed her, he’s probably run off with her body. We can help.”

“Beleth didn’t run off,” Katie says. “Someone was after him. He needed to become more powerful to fight him, and we helped.”

“Helped how?” Sam asks.

“We... fed him,” Katie says, straightening her posture.

“The animals…” Sam says.

“But it wasn’t a fight,” Rachel says softly. “Middle of the night, the guy showed up - just standing out there in the street. I thought it was gonna be really bad, and I think Beleth thought so too. But the guy just… snapped his fingers, and Beleth… Angela… She just went limp. She collapsed. Then before I knew it, the guy was gone.”

“We had to bury her,” Olivia says.

As this is happening, Dean fidgets. Sam notices this, but none of the girls do. The frayed ends of the knot hover just above his hands. He stretches out his fingers, straining. He pinches a strand between his index and middle finger, and pulls it down, his fingers climbing up the knot like a spider. He hooks his thumb through the knot and pulls it loose. 

“Do you know who this guy was?” Sam asks, hoping to draw attention away from Dean.

“As if you don’t know,” Katie says.

“No, we really don’t,” Sam says. Katie rolls her eyes.

“Your BFF,” Katie replies. “The angel, Castiel.”

“Castiel is dead,” Dean says.

“Apparently not,” Olivia says.

“That’s where you come in,” Katie says. “You’re gonna bring us to the angel, and he’s gonna bring Angela back.”

“I’m telling you, we don’t know anything about this,” Sam says. “Even if he could bring her back, we don’t know where he is.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” Katie says, lowering the gun to point it at his feet. “But I know how to get the information I need.”

Dean grabs Rachel by the arm. He pulls her down, disarming her and putting the knife to her neck. Katie aims for Sam’s feet. A bang. She misses - the bullet ricochets off the ground. Sam looks down, expecting to see blood. It hits Olivia in the shin. She screams.

“DROP THE GUN,” Dean yells. He pressed the blade against Rachel’s throat. It’s deeper than necessary, but not deep enough to make a cut. 

“You won’t hurt her.”

“You don’t know the week I’ve had.”

“Jesus Christ, fucking do it, Katie,” Rachel cries. 

Katie rolls her eyes. She lowers the gun to the floor.

“Both of them,” Sam says. 

Katie makes a show of pulling out the gun that she had taken from Sam, and putting it on the floor as well.

“Now, untie Sam,” Dean demands. 

Katie turns to Olivia, who’s curled up on the floor, crying now. Katie sighs, and undoes Sam’s ropes. He immediately picks up his gun and points it at her.

“Okay, great. Now what,” says Katie.

"Now, we leave,” Sam replies.

“Are you kidding? Sam, they killed that girl,” says Dean.

“We didn’t kill her,” squeaks Rachel through snotty tears. “It was her idea to summon him. Do you think we wanted this? She was our friend.”

“In my book, letting a friend die is as good as killing them,” Dean says. 

Dean is pissed, but he can tell he’s scaring this girl. Sam gives him a look of disappointment. They have an argument in the form of facial expressions. Sam wins. Dean sighs in defeat. He shoves Rachel off of him, and she topples backwards, heaving in relief. Dean pockets the knife and takes out his pistol.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Sam says. Still with his gun trained on Katie, he picks up the caged chicken and puts it on Dean’s lap. They turn to leave.

“Really fucked up tradition you guys have, by the way,” Dean adds.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Katie replies. “I’m over this. Just go.”

Sam begins the process of awkwardly maneuvering Dean’s wheelchair up the staircase.

“Dude, stop, just-” Dean protests, swatting Sam away.

“How’d they even get you down here?” Sam asks.

“There’s a ramp out the back, dumbass,” Katie replies.

“Oh.” 

Dean pointedly jerks himself away from Sam and makes his way to the back door. 

There’s a click.

“Not so fast,” comes Olivia’s shaky voice. She holds a gun to Dean’s head.

“Olivia, put the gun down,” Sam says, creeping towards her. Blood runs down her leg, seeping through the fabric of her jeans and pooling onto the floor.

“Maybe Angela is gone for good,” she squeaks. “But Beleth is strong. He can come back. Maybe all it’ll take is one more sacrifice.”

“Don’t do this,” Dean says sternly. “You’re not a killer.”

“He can come back,” she whispers. “He can bring her back.” 

Dean’s heart is racing. Tears well in Olivia’s eyes. Her face is childlike - she can’t be older than 18. But she’s scared. The color is drained from her face, and she’s shivering. The gun is shaking. It’s as though the barrel is a coal-black eye - staring Dean down, taunting him. The eye of an old friend with a grudge.

“Olivia-”

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

A click.

Dean flinches, turning his head and scrunching up his face. But he’s okay. Olivia looks down at the gun in disbelief, and Dean snatches it out of her grasp.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Dean roars.

“Dean. Dean, are you -” Sam asks.

“I’m fine,” he says, glaring at Olivia. “Fucking psychos.” 

Dean heads to the back door, rolling over Olivia’s toes on his way. She whimpers. Sam looks her over with a mixture of sympathy and contempt. He opens his mouth to speak, his instincts telling him to comfort her. He decides against it, and follows Dean out.

\---

Sam calls campus police with an anonymous tip - he tells them he heard gunshots, and saw some girls burying what looked like a body in the sorority house’s backyard. Afterwards, they bring the chicken to the main building. A janitor meets them by the door and takes it, assuring them he’d bring it to the poultry research center after he’s done. They head back to the car. It’s late dark now - stars twinkle above them. The air is thin. Sam drives.

“So Cas is alive,” Sam says, breaking the silence. “That’s great news, right?”

“Yup,” Dean replies tersely. 

Sam glances at Dean. Dean is staring out the window, arms crossed. Reflected in his eyes are the white streaks of streetlights, zooming past.

“Are we gonna talk about what happened back there?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, why do I feel like crap about that whole thing,” replies Dean.

“I feel the same way,” Sam says. “But that’s not what I mean.”

“What, then?”

“Dude, you could’ve gotten killed,” Sam says.

“Well, I didn’t, Dean retorts.

“Those were college students. Normal people. They didn’t know what they were doing. Imagine if it had been a demon or a vampire -”

“I saved you!”

“You got caught,” Sam replies. “If I hadn’t been there in time, who knows what would’ve happened.”

“I would’ve figured it out.”

“Do you not see that this isn't feasible? I know you want to hunt, but you’re in no condition to be putting yourself in danger like that.”

“I think I can decide for myself-”

“This isn’t an argument, Dean. You almost died.”

“Well, here I am, still kicking.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call you kicking,” Sam says.

A pause. Dean lets his anger simmer. Then Sam, softly:

“I just can’t risk losing you again.”

“And what about you? Are you gonna hunt without me?” Dean asks.

“I’ll… I’ll figure something out.”

They make the rest of the journey in silence.

\---

Back at the bunker, things are tense. Night turns into day turns into night, and Dean refuses to say a word to Sam. It’s not Sam being overbearing that bothers Dean. What bothers him is the fact that he’s right. On a good day hunting is dangerous; On a bad day it kills you. But what if it does? That was always the plan, anyway. Going out in a blaze of glory. Or maybe it would have been better if he had bled out on that spike.

Dean is alone in his room, and he’s drinking. This combination - beer and rumination - isn’t kind on the stomach. Even Dean knows that. He also knows what the alternative is, but it’s something he was trying to avoid. 

With a sigh, he clasps his hands together.

“Cas, it’s me again,” Dean mutters, almost whispers. 

He checks to make sure the door is closed. 

“I really need you right now, man,” he continues. “Things are bad. I got hurt. I need your help but I - I need you here, Cas. I need to know you’re okay. However you feel or however you think I feel, I can’t have things end like that. You can’t do that to me. We’ve gotten through worse before. I need you to do it again. Whatever you have to do, do it. Please, Cas, plea-”

Dean looks around. For the first time, this prayer truly feels like talking to nothing. How many times has he done this now, with no results? Cas isn’t listening. Maybe now is a good time to give up hope on that front. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, bowing his head again.

“Hey Jack,” Dean says. “How’s it hanging? I know you’re probably really busy… y’know, being God and all. Sam and I just… miss you! It wouldn’t kill you to call every once in a while - Okay fuck this.” Dean slaps his hands down on his knees.

“Hello,” comes a cheery voice from behind him. He turns around, to see Jack standing by the door. Dean’s eyes widen, and his face lights up.

“Jack! Boy, I’m glad to see you,” Dean exclaims.

“As am I,” Jack says. His expression is poised but warm. He leans down and gives Dean a tight hug.

“Careful now,” Dean says.

“Your injury, of course.”

“Yeah, about that, do you think you could give me a hand?”

“I thought you called me to catch up. Why do I feel like I’m being used?” Jack says. Dean’s face drops.

“Jack, you have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Dean says. Jack grins.

“I know, I’m just joking,” he says. Dean laughs in relief. “But I’m not going to heal you.”

“What, why?”

“Hands off, remember?” Jack says, wiggling his fingers.

“Okay, but c’mon, it’s me.”

“You’ll find I work in mysterious ways, Dean,” Jack says with a wink. Dean’s eyes widen in disbelief. His eyebrows furrow. 

“Are you kidding? You’re really gonna leave me like this?” Dean roars. His hands grip the arms of his wheelchair. Jack notices the beer bottles, and senses that this was a bad time to drop in.

“Is Sam here? I’d like to see him,” Jack says, changing the subject. He opens the door and wanders out into the hallway. Dean follows in suit, aggressively.

“Sam?” Jack calls out. Nothing. Jack puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Suddenly, they’re in the kitchen. Sam is mixing something in a bowl. He’s covered in flour.

“Jack!” Sam cries out. 

Sam runs over to give Jack a hug, then hesitates, wiping the flour from his shirt. Jack wraps his arms around his torso and squeezes him.

“Are you… making pie?” Dean asks.

“We had apples, so I thought… Anyway, Jack, how are you?” Sam asks, gesturing for him to sit down. Jack doesn’t.

“I have been working hard. Heaven has been long overdue for some changes.”

“What kind of changes?” Sam asks.

“You’ll see,” Jack says with a wink. Sam smiles at first, then looks offended.

“Being God is a big responsibility,” Jack continues. “I just want to get it right.”

“Jack, what about Castiel?” Dean asks.

“Oh, Castiel! He talks about you constantly,” Jack replies cheerfully.

“So he is alive!” Sam exclaims. Dean’s eyes widen.

“Of course he is. Did you think I wouldn’t save my own father?” Jack says.

“He’s been alive this whole time, and you didn’t think to tell us?” Dean grunts.

“I suppose I wrongly assumed he would come to you himself,” Jack says pensively. 

Deans face drops. It’s not that Cas is stuck in the Empty. It’s not even that he can’t hear Dean’s prayers. He just doesn’t want to see him.

“So Cas is the one who’s been rounding up demons,” Sam says. Jack nods.

“Yes, will Hell’s consent. Rowena was enthusiastic when I proposed the idea. She said she liked having her, ‘boy toys’ at her disposal,” Jack says with air quotes.

“What happened to hands off?” Dean says.

“As a leader, I have to mend the errors of my predecessor,” Jack explains. “It was through Chuck’s neglect that demons came to roam the Earth in such high numbers. There’s a difference between non-intervention and compliance. Castiel taught me this.”

“If Cas is smiting demons, we should be helping him,” Dean says.

“He’s not smiting demons, he’s banishing them,” Jack says. “He was, at least.”

“What do you mean ‘was’?” Sam asks.

“Castiel completed his mission,” Jack says with a smile. “There are no demons left on Earth.”

The brothers are taken aback.

“That’s amazing,” Sam says breathlessly.

“So where is Cas now?” Dean asks, not missing a beat.

“He’s in Heaven, safe. He’s taken on a creative project for the moment - I’m making some changes up there, and Castiel is one of the few angels who really understands humans,” Jack says. “Plus, he’s so much better to work with than the other angels. I don’t know how many you’ve met but they’re all kinda boring.”

“Oh, we know,” Dean says.

“Say, Jack,” Sam says. “Do you think you could do something about…” He gestures at Dean.

“He already said no, Sammy,” Dean says.

“What? Why?” Sam asks. Jack sighs.

“I’m sorry, but this is something Dean has to figure out for himself, for his own good.”

“Well thanks for that,” Dean says with a sarcastic crinkle of his eyes. Jack ignores him, and walks over to the flour-splattered counter. He draws a smiley face in the flour with his finger.

“Sam, can I help you bake?” Jack asks. Sam glances at Dean nervously, then flashes Jack a warm smile.

“Yeah, of course,” Sam says. “I was just about to make the filling. How’d you like to peel the apples?” Sam offers him the apple peeler.

“Menial labor. Yes, that’d be perfect,” Jack says in earnest.

“Dean?” Sam calls.

“What?” Dean barks over his shoulder. He’s already halfway out the door.

“Come bake with us!” Jack says. Dean sighs.

“Not now,” he says.

“Well you can have a slice when we’re done,” Sam says.

Dean turns to leave.

“I’m not hungry.”

\---

It’s Thursday. Sam and Dean are in a waiting room, sitting on scratchy red chairs. A fast food advertisement plays on the television. Dean flips through a trashy celebrity magazine. Sam bounces his leg, glancing between Dean, the door, and the TV.

“I’m gonna pick you up afterward,” Sam says, breaking the silence.

“Right.” Dean doesn’t look at him.

“This guy is supposed to be really good. I was reading about him earlier. People who were in a similar position as you, and fully recovered,” says Sam.

“Missionary?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

Dean tears a page from the magazine. He folds it into a paper airplane, lifts it up, and shoots it into the air. It floats for a second, then comes crashing down. Sam chuckles. Dean tosses the magazine aside and slumps into his wheelchair, crossing his arms.

“Dean Smith?” comes a silvery voice. Dean looks up. The man is tall and lean, with dusty brown hair, and wearing athletic clothes. He’s handsome, like the kind of guy they show jogging in antidepressant advertisements.

“That’s me,” Dean says.

“Dr. Ward,” greets Sam, standing.

“Please call me Jason. Come on in, Dean.”

“I’ll see you later,” Sam says.

“Yeah, okay. Say ‘hi’ to Eliene for me,” Dean says.

“Will do,” Sam replies. He watches them leave.

Jason guides Dean to a room with large windows. There are a few other people there. Jason guides Dean to the end of the room, and helps him up into the therapy table. Dean sees a woman bouncing on an exercise ball.

“Am I gonna get to do that?”

“Later on, maybe,” Jason says. “How are you doing, Dean?”

“To tell you the truth I’m getting a little sick of people asking that,” Dean replies. As soon as he says this, he feels guilty for being unfriendly. Something about this guy makes him want to make a good impression.

“Yeah, I get you. Are you in much pain these days?” Jason asks. Dean assumes that Jason is obligated to ask this question, but it comes across as sincere.

“Uh, yeah, kind of. I’m still sore from getting, y’know, stabbed.” Dean laughs nervously.

“So no pain in your legs.”

“No. But, they’ve got me on some great pills so - who knows,” Dean replies. Jason nods along and smirks. 

“That’s good,” Jason replies. “Here, lie down.”

Dean lies down.

“I’m gonna start off with passive range of motion,” Jason says. “Nothing to do with building your strength - it’s just gonna help get rid of stiffness so you keep your flexibility. That okay?”

“Awesome.”

“It shouldn’t hurt but if it does, let me know.” 

Dean gives him a thumbs up. Jason cradles Dean’s calf in his arms and lifts it gingerly, bending it at the knee and bringing it close to Dean’s chest, then back out. Jason’s expression is focused but tender, his tawny eyes turned downward. 

“What do you do for work, Dean?” he asks. Ah, great, lying time.

“I’m a mechanic.”

“A mechanic! So you’re big on cars.”

“You could say that.”

“Let me guess, the ‘67 impala out front is yours?” Jason says. He repeats the same movements on Dean’s other leg.

“Yeah, ‘67,” Dean replies. “What do you drive?”

“A 2005 Ford Fiesta, not to brag,” Jason replies, sarcastically. “I have a broken down 1972 Chevy Chevelle sitting in the garage, though. I’ve been meaning to get it fixed for ages - maybe I could go to you.”

“Wow, yeah I’d love to get a look at it,” Dean replies. “What the hell are you doing driving a Fiesta when you’re sitting on that beauty?” Jason extends Dean’s leg and brings it outward and in.

“The Ford is better for the kids,” Jason replies. “Plus my husband wanted something that’s better for the environment. As nice as those old cars look, they're definitely gas guzzling.”

“You have kids?” Dean asks. He has a husband.

“Yeah, two of them. A boy and a girl,” Jason replies. He repeats the extending motion on Dean’s other leg, then brings it up, gently stretching his hamstrings. “You got kids?”

“I have a son,” Dean replies. “A teenager.”

“That’s a tough age,” Jason comments.

“Yeah. He’s rebellious too.”

“Whatever you tell him to do, he does the opposite, right?”

“Exactly,” Dean replies. “I’m pretty sure he thinks that because he has more responsibilities now, that he’s all grown up. But he’s still just a kid.”

“Kids always think they’re more grown-up than they are,” Jason replies. “But it’s good for them to make their own choices, no matter how much we as parents want to step in.” 

Dean considers this point as Jason moves onto rotating his ankles. He’s conflicted. On one hand, Jack’s willingness to meddle in some affairs and not others is worrisome. Things playing out a certain way because God orchestrates it feels eerily similar to God sitting back and letting one thing lead to the next. On the other hand, it’s good that Jack is doing what he wants, not what Dean wants. John never gave Dean that luxury and, looking back, Dean may have been better off if he had taken it. Given the choice, maybe Dean actually would have become a mechanic.

\---

In the car ride home, Dean feels surprisingly better. By the end of the session, he already felt the strength in his legs returning - He was able to keep them lifted up for a lot longer, and when Jason helped him back into his wheelchair when they were done, it wasn’t the awkward and stumbling like it usually is - to a certain extent, Dean was able to hold his own.

They arrive back at the bunker, where Dean sees the table is covered with stacks of books. He checks them out- they’re all spellbooks, or books about witches. He turns to Sam.

“Research for a hunt?” Dean asks.

“Research, yeah, but not for a hunt.”

“What happened to Eileen? I thought you were meeting her.”

“I did,” Sam replies. As if on cue, Eileen emerges from the hallway lugging a huge, leather-bound book. Sam rushes over to help her.

“Hi Dean!” She says with a cheerful wave. She hands the book to Sam, who sinks under its weight. He plops it on the table.

“Eileen, hey!” Dean says, greeting her with a hug. “Sam’s got you doing work for him, huh? Real Casanova over here.”

“Sam and I are working on something together, actually. All of this -” Eileen gestures at the table “- is research for a book.”

“A book,” Dean repeats, raising his eyebrows.

“More of a hunter’s manual,” Sam says. “How to identify monsters, how to trap them, and how to kill them.”

“Kinda like Dad’s journal,” Dean says.

“Sort of, but… textbook level. All of the knowledge of The Men of Letters, plus everything we’ve learned ourselves,” Sam says. ”I figured all these resources, our knowledge - It could be useful for others.”

“We’re working on the chapter on witches now,” Eileen says. “And we stumbled upon a spell that might help heal you.”

“Really?” Dean says, trying not to get hopeful.

“Well,’ Sam starts, flipping through one of the books. “There were actually a lot of healing spells, but most aren’t feasible- Dodo bird feathers, moon rocks, stuff like that. And I figure you’d want to skip the ones that involve rabbits.”

“You got that right,” Dean says pointedly. “Those poor rabbits…”

“But we found one that looks promising, here,” Sam continues. He jabs his finger on the open page.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Dean says.

Sam and Eileen jump into action. They gather the ingredients together: Snake skin, grass, an ambiguous jar of slime. Sam also plucks a hair from Dean’s head, to his annoyance. Eileen portions the ingredients into the bowl and crushes them with a pestle. She lights a match and tosses it into the bowl. With a whoosh, the ingredients catch fire. She looks at Sam, expectantly. Sam clears his throat. He reads from the book.

“Es stultior asino. Latine non est magicae. Lingua est. Sunt consecutiones quod attinet ad stultitiam. Ego dabo tibi dolor!”

With those words, the flame turns purple.

“Well? How do you feel?” Sam asks.

Dean lifts his leg slightly, then drops it back down.

“Happy to be included,” Dean replies. “But that didn’t do jack shi-”

Dean freezes.

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes bulge in horror. He can’t move. He can’t speak. A venomous pain spreads through his body. It starts dull, then crescendos into unimaginable agony. Dean wheezes, and blood spills from his mouth. It spills from his eyes, streaking down his face.

“PUT IT OUT,” Sam yells.

Eileen is already on it. With a single motion of her arm, the bowl comes crashing onto the floor, and she stomps out the flame. It is left a sizzling black pile. Dean gasps, clutching his throat. He relaxes. The pain is gone. He snorts, then spits out a wad of blood and phlegm.

“What the hell was that?” Dean yells.

“Dean, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Eileen asks.

“Thanks, Eileen. I’m fine.” Dean wipes away the blood on his face.

“Do you need -” Sam starts.

“You’ve done enough.”

\---

Elsewhere, Castiel stands in a cornfield. The sky is bright blue above him, scattered with fluffy clouds. He crouches, and hovers his outstretched hand over the ground. A warm light emanates from his palm. Beneath it, youthful green leaves sprout from the dirt. Cas smiles. He slowly raises his hand, and a stalk grows, higher, until Cas is standing with his arm raised up straight and the stalk towering over him. 

Jack appears.

“He asked about you,” Jack says.

“What did he say?” Cas replies, examining his work. He runs his index finger and thumb along the stem, and with it leaves spring into existence.

“He sounded upset that you have been choosing not to visit him.”

“You told him that?”

“Why would I lie?” 

Castiel takes a deep breath. He puts his hands on the stem once again, his palm glowing, and an ear of corn grows, fitting itself into his grip. He plucks it and peels back a section of husk. The kernels are plump and golden.

“It’s too dangerous to see him, given what we’re about to do,” Cas says.

“Is that really the reason?”

“He’ll want to help. He’ll put himself at risk,” Cas says.

“Or he’ll try to talk you out of it.”

Cas avoids Jack’s gaze, and tightens his grasp around the corncob. Jack is goading him, trying to get him to admit what they both already know: that Cas doesn’t want to go through with this plan, not really. He never wanted to go through with it to begin with. What he wants is to hang up his coat, to abandon matters of heaven and hell and go back to a home where there’s a space for him. But he can’t, because he needs Dean to be the one to talk him out of this, and he can’t give him the opportunity. Because Cas is scared. Because it would destroy Cas if he gave Dean the chance to tell him to stay, and Dean didn’t take it. 

Cas’ hands glow a buzzing red. The corncob explodes. They are showered in popcorn. Cas looks around, embarrassed, and composes himself.

“You don’t have much time left,” Jack says.

“I’ve already said my goodbyes. I have nothing left to offer him,” Cas says.

“Have you been listening to his prayers?” 

“I… can’t.”

“Well I have,” Jack says. “I suggest you do the same.” 

Jack turns to leave.

“Jack, wait,” Cas calls out. 

“What is it?” Jack replies. 

Cas steps forward. Popcorn crunches beneath his foot. A breeze passes through, carrying leaves, causing the corn stalks to sway. It lifts the edge of Cas’ coat and rustles his hair. He sighs, and tilts his head.

“You have something on your face.” 

“What?” 

“Come here,” Cas says. He licks his thumb and extends it towards Jack.

“It’s fine, it’s just flour,” Jack protests, recoiling. He tries to push Castiel away, but Cas persists.

“Jack, I almost have it. Stay still,” Cas says, his thumb inching closer. Jack scrunches up his face.

“It’s fine! It’s fine. I’ll see you later. I love you,” Jack says. With that, he disappears.

\---

Sam comes home late one night, after a hunt. He’s covered in scratches, and his lip is bleeding. He’s been doing this lately - going hunting alone, returning to the bunker in a concerning state. Hunting alone is lonely. Life these days, in general, is lonely. Dean spends a bulk of his time at physical therapy, and he’s no longer there to accompany Sam on those long pre- and post-hunt car rides. Still, even when Dean and Sam are both home, Dean barely speaks to him.

Sam takes a moment to catch his breath. He leans on the table and gulps down water from a reusable bottle as Miracle rushes over to him and jumps up against his legs. Sam ruffles his fur. In the distance, there’s loud clanging - the sound of metal-on-metal. Sam sets the bottle down. He gently pushes Miracle aside and follows the noise.

It’s coming from one of the storage rooms. Sam opens the door a crack and peaks in. Dean is sitting there, hitting something on the ground with a crowbar.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks, concerned.

“Remember that indestructible box we found?” 

“Yeah…?”

Dean lifts the crowbar above his head and crashes it down against the box. It makes a thunderous bang. Sam cringes at the noise.

“I’m destructing it.” 

“And how’s that working out for you?” Sam inquires tentatively.

“Oh, just great,” Dean says, resting the dented crowbar on his shoulder. “How was the case.”

“Hard, without you,” Sam says, gesturing to the scratches on his face.

“You should find other hunters to go with you next time.” Another swing of the crowbar, another bang.

“I might,” Sam replies. “It’s late. Why are you still awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Another bang.

“Would you just -” Sam grabs the crowbar from out of Deans hands.

“HEY-” Dean starts. Sam stammers, but he realizes there’s no point. He rolls his eyes and hands it back to Dean.

“Thank you.” He swings the crowbar again, this time missing and hitting the concrete floor with a crack. Dust flies up. Sam coughs, covering his mouth with his sleeve.

“I’m worried about you being alone here,” Sam says.

“I’m doing just fine, Sammy.” Dean lifts the crowbar above his head and swings down, hard. It hits the box square in the middle and bends into a right angle. Dean inspects the dent, then tosses the crowbar over his shoulder.

“I’m serious,” Sam continues. “Charlie told me she’s working a case nearby, maybe she can come down after and spend some time here.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Dean says. Sam sighs.

“Think about it,” he says. Miracle trots into the room. “You didn’t take Miracle out, did you?”

“No. He pissed on the kitchen floor though,” Dean replies.

“You know, you’re not house-bound. You can take him for walks.”

“Yeah, sure, walk and roll,” Dean says, gesturing the sign of the horns.

“Next time?”

“Next time, fine,” Dean says, “But piss won’t clean itself.” 

Dean squeezes Miracle’s ears affectionately, then rolls out the door. He gives Sam a pat on the arm on his way out.

\---

It’s a few days later. Dean is alone in the bunker, once again, as Sam works a case a few states over. Dean is bored out of his mind. He’s been putting effort into his exercises at home, and they’ve been doing something, but not enough. He can stand for a few seconds at a time, but even then, he has to hold onto something. Looking for cases for Sam has helped pass the time, but it feels like online shopping with an empty debit card.

Dean picks up his phone and passes it between his hands. Sam said Charlie would be in town today. He wonders if she’s still nearby. He considers it for a moment, then gives her a call. After a few rings, she answers.

“Hey Dean,” She says in that sweet voice of hers.

“Hey,” Dean grunts.

“I’m almost at the bunker - meet me outside?”

“You’re here?”

“Well sure, Sam invited me,” she says innocently.

“That son of a bitch,” Dean mutters.

“If you don’t want -”

“No, I’ll be right up,” Dean says, hanging up the phone. He grabs a coat, and Miracle’s leash, and heads to the elevator.

“Dean!” Charlie exclaims, emerging from her car. She slams the door behind her and goes to greet him, but she’s accosted by Miracle. She gasps in excitement, and crouches down to pet him.

“Who’s this cutie?” she asks.

“It’s Miracle, we found him.” Charlie scrunches her face up as Miracle tries to lick it. She looks back at Dean, beaming, and gives him a hug. She smells like caramel.

“You look great,” Dean says.

“You look like shit,” Charlie replies. “What happened?”

“A big piece of metal through the back,” Dean says, holding his fingers apart to show the size. Charlie raises her eyebrows suggestively, to which Dean drops his hands.

“What about you,” Dean stammers. “What have you been up to?” 

Dean gestures with his head, and rolls towards the street. Charlie tries to push him, but he shoos her away and hands her Miracle’s leash.

“Things have been good,” she says. Miracle leaps ahead of her, tugging at the leash. “I get to spend a lot of time with my girlfriend.”

“Stevie, right? She’s a hunter.”

“Yeah,” she says, eyeing Dean. “We live together, and hunt together. It… it feels good to settle down, and with someone who understands, y’know?”

“That sounds nice.” 

They find a footpath on the other side of the road and follow it. Golden leaves litter the ground, damp from the recent rain. They are surrounded by towering evergreens. The air is crisp, and smells like dirt. Charlie swings her arms as she walks. Dean looks up. The tips of the trees form a halo, framing the steel-grey sky.

“I was so scared when she disappeared,” Charlie continues. “I didn’t think I would see her again. I thought I had lost her.”

“I know how that feels. I’m sorry,” Dean says. Charlie sighs.

“Sam told me about Cas,” she says. Dean’s heart skips a beat.

“What did he say?” Dean asks.

“That he sacrificed himself for you,” Charlie says. “That he’s in Heaven now and he won’t talk to you.”

“Yeah, that’s about right.”

“I don’t understand why, though. Did something happen?”

“It’s just… Cas, he…” Dean starts, but he hesitates. Should he tell her? If anyone would understand, it’d be her. 

“Don’t tell Sam,” Dean says. 

“Not a word,” Charlie says, shaking her head and putting her hands up in a gesture of innocence. She mimes zipping her mouth shut and tossing the key over her shoulder.

“Cas told me,” Dean continues. “That he feels… or felt… a certain way. Before he left.”

“A ‘certain way’?” Charlie prods. Dean looks exasperated.

“He told me,” Dean says. “That he loved me.”

“He loves you!?” Charlie exclaims, grinning.

“Keep your voice down,” Dean hisses.

“Dude, we’re alone in the woods. He told you he loves you? What did you say?”

Dean buries his face in his hands.

“I don’t know, I didn’t know what to say.”

“Did you say it back?”

“No!”

“So you let him declare his love for you, and then die?” Charlie exclaims. “No wonder he’s being pissy.”

“It all just happened so fast, what was I supposed to do?” Charlie groans in frustration.

“Well do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Love him back?”

“Wha- I - that’s not the point.”

“That’s the whole point!” Charlie says, waving her arms emphatically. 

“I don’t know,” Dean says, lowering his voice again. “I don’t know what to think. He’s my best friend.” 

“Who also happens to be a man,” Charlie adds.

Dean sighs.

“Is that a problem?” Charlie asks.

Birds tweet above them. A squirrel runs past.

“I thought it would be.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean thinks for a moment.

“There have always been guys on cases, who treated me... differently,” Dean explains. “Good looking guys, too. I used to think that what I felt was disgust - this rush of dread, this sick feeling in my stomach. But I think that was fear.”

“Fear of what?” Charlie asks quietly. Dean furrows his brow.

“Myself, I guess. How I felt,” Dean says. “That I liked it.”

Charlie’s expression softens.

“But with Cas it was different,” Dean continues. “It was okay because he was my best friend - family. Because he’s an angel, and angels can’t - or at least I didn’t think they could feel that sort of thing. So it didn’t mean anything, and I could let myself feel all those things I didn’t want to feel. And it felt good.”

“Maybe it’s worth talking to him about this,” Charlie says, her voice gentle. 

“I wanted to,” Dean says. “I wanted to and I tried and I could never get it out. Because I was scared. Because I’m a coward. I just let him -” Dean’s voice tapers off. “It’s not like I could now, anyway”

“He won’t be gone forever,” Charlie says. “It’s Castiel. Like you said, he’s your best friend.” 

Dean stares grimly into the distance, where Miracle is leaving an impressive turd. Before Dean can protest, Charlie envelops him in another hug.

“I’ll get that,” Charlie says, pulling away and nodding her head towards Miracle.

“No, you don’t have to - it’ll decompose!” Dean says. Charlie doesn’t listen. She backs up towards the tree, swinging the blue plastic bag around like a lasso. 

“Let me do it,” Dean says, extending his arm.

As this happens, there is an ominous crackle above them. Dean pays it no mind as he rolls forward towards Charlie and Miracle, but Charlie pauses to look up. There comes another crackle, louder this time, and the sound of shaking leaves.

“Dean, watch out!” Charlie cries.

The pine tree next to Dean lurches. It splinters mid-trunk. Dean doesn’t have time to react. The top half of the tree comes swinging down above Dean’s head, and its spindly tip crashes into a tree on the other side of the path. Their branches hook together. The pine tree is caught mid-fall, forming an arch over the path.

Realizing that he’s unharmed, Dean moves out from under the tree, towards Charlie.

“Dude, are you okay? That almost got you,” Charlie says.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean says in disbelief.

“That was close. You’re really lucky.”

“Lucky. Yeah.”

\---

Sam comes home with a bruise on his cheek, a swollen nose, and a body that aches. Miracle greets him as he puts his stuff down. Following the noise of a TV, he finds Charlie and Dean on the couch together in the “Dean Cave”, watching Lord of the Rings. Charlie’s arms are wrapped around Dean, but she leaps up when she sees Sam.

“Hey Charlie,” Sam says.

“Hello my preciousss,” Charlie hisses. She laughs and pulls him into a bear hug.

“What happened to you?” Dean asks.

“Turns out other hunters, they’re not as good as you,” Sam says. “Can I watch with you guys?”

“Sure thing,” Charlie says. Dean shrugs.

They sit together, huddled on the couch. Dean passes Sam the popcorn, but pulls it back quickly to take a handful for himself and shove it in his mouth. Sam scoffs at him and gently takes the bowl, watching Dean’s indulgent, puffed-cheek chewing. Dean is happy, for the first time in a while. The thought of Cas, the sting that comes with it, is mellowed. A kernel of popcorn gets stuck in Dean’s teeth.

\---

Charlie leaves in the early evening. Sam and Dean offer to let her stay the night, but she insists - her stuff is still at the motel, and she wants to get an early start the next morning before she heads home. Sam escorts her to her car.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” he asks.

“I’ll be back soon as I can,” Charlie says. “You can’t get rid of me this easily.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Sam replies. “But for real. You can bring your girlfriend too next time. It’s nice to have other people around. The bunker can get quiet.”

“I bet,” Charlie says. “I mean, the place is huge.”

“Well it was built to have more people in it,” Sam says. “I sometimes wish it was still like the old Men of Letters days.”

“Stuffy clothes and no girls allowed?” Charlie teases.

“No, no,” Sam laughs. “Just, hunting as a brotherhood - or sisterhood! I feel like I barely know other hunters, and even when we work together it’s all so individualistic.”

“Is that how you got -” Charlie swirls her hand in a gesture at his face.

“No, that’s not their fault,” Sam says. “We’re just not in sync the way Dean and I are. Like, I practically know what Dean’s about to do before he does it.”

“Yeah, you guys are pretty creepy.”

“Thanks,” Sam says sarcastically.

“So hunting’s lost its magic?”

“Eh, it never had much ‘magic’ to begin with. Except for the, uh, actually magic.”

“Naturally.”

“I mean, I like research. I’m actually writing a book about hunting with my girlfriend.”

“Narrative or informative?” Charlie asks, leaning on her car.

“Informative.”

“Y’know, I know a guy who’s trying to organize classes on hunting here in Kansas,” Charlie says. “I could hook you up. You two could collaborate.”

“That’d be amazing,” Sam says.

“I’ll text you his number,” Charlie says. “In the meantime, I gotta get going.”

“Right! Of course,” Sam says.

They hug. Charlie gets into her car, and rolls down the window.

“Y’know, Dean’s really going through it,” Charlie says. “He needs your support.”

“I know. And I’m trying.”

Charlie squints at him in suspicion.

“So you support Dean?” Charlie asks slowly.

“Yeah, like I said.”

“And you’ll support him no matter what…”

Sam is confused. He squints back.

“Yeah, I… guess….”

They squint at each other.

“Okay good!” Charlie says suddenly. “Smell ya later, Sam.”

“...See ya.”

\---

Dean is standing on a beach on a cloudy day. He’s wearing a green and blue Hawaiian shirt. Seagulls squawk overhead. White sand shifts and crunches between his toes, and the salty air stings his eyes. He smiles. How long has it been since he’s visited the beach? Too cold to swim, sure, but pleasant nonetheless. Before him, the ocean is expansive, and awesome in its original meaning. It’s waves approach, then retreat in a steady but unforgiving rhythm. Dean breaths in time with them (or they breath in time with him). The ocean doesn’t care if he lives or dies. Dean remembers, for once, what it’s like to feel calm.

And then the waves pull back again, to reveal a man splayed out, face buried in the sand.

“Cas,” Dean exhales. He rushes over and kneels in the wet sand. He pushes Cas onto his back.

“Cas! Look at me,” Dean says, cradling Cas’ face. They are struck by another wave. It submerges Cas and seeps through Dean’s clothes. Dean drags Cas, limp, further up shore. Cas comes to his senses, coughing up water. He’s disorientated and frantic, until he locks eyes with Dean.

“So this is how you see me,” Cas says. Waves lap at his shoes. He sits upright.

“I’m dreaming,” Dean says.

“Yes,” Cas says. His eyes are dazed, with deep circles beneath them. He looks like he’s barely managing to keep himself upright.

“Are you… you?” Dean asks, clutching Cas by his sleeves. Cas smiles weakly. 

They are struck by a wave, but this time Dean embraces Cas. The wave covers the both of them, dragging them out to sea. When their heads reemerge, there isn’t a shoreline in sight. A pink horizon surrounds them, providing the illusion of an edge to an endless sea.

“I haven’t got much time,” Cas says.

“Cas, where are you?

“Heaven. For now,” Cas says, wading desperately to keep himself afloat. “I’ll come to you in due time.”

“When?” 

Cas opens his mouth to speak, and in an instant, he is pulled under.

\---

It’s been two weeks since the scuffle at the barn. They’re in the bathroom, where Dean is sitting on the toilet seat as Sam rummages through the first aid kit. It’s time to pull out Dean’s stitches, and they’re not risking going back to the same hospital in case their insurance card fails and gets them in trouble. Besides, they’ve done this before - sewing up cuts with dental floss and whisky and picking them back out later. The first time Dean did it was Sam tripped and split his knee open while John was out. He had seen his dad do it on himself before, so Dean grabbed a needle and got to work, shushing Sam and telling him it would be okay. When John walked through the door that night, Dean’s blood was ice. John saw Sam’s knee, but didn’t mention it. Maybe that was his way of saying he was proud?

“I’m broken,” Dean blurts out.

“You’re injured, Dean,” Sam replies.

“I don’t mean like that,” Dean says. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“Like what?”

“You - doing all this stuff for me. You’re my little brother - I’m the one who’s supposed to be taking care of you,” Dean says. “I don’t like that you keep coming home hurt, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“I’m not a little kid anymore, Dean.”

“I still feel like you are.”

“Well don’t!” Sam says. He throws the first aid kit down on the counter. “You’re so obsessed with protecting me, it’s pathological.”

“Do you think I can help it? Wanting you to be safe?”

“And what about you? I can’t stand seeing you miserable like this.”

“Well I don’t know what you want me to do about that.”

“I want you to give yourself a break, for once,” Sam says. “And let me do this.”

They stare at each other. Sam’s lips are pulled into a flat line, his arms are outspread. Dean sighs. He slaps his hands down on his legs, and turns so his back is facing Sam. 

“Go ahead,” Dean says.

Sam wordlessly gets the scissors from the first aid kit. He crouches down behind Dean, and lifts up his shirt to get a look at the stitches.

He pauses.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam says, lifting the shirt up higher.

“What? What’s the problem? Is it ugly?”

“No, it’s - Are you sure you got stabbed through the back?”

“What do you mean ‘Am I sure’, you were there!”

“It’s just - the stitches are gone. I can barely even see the scar.”

“What? Let me see,” Dean says, craning his neck around. 

Sam grabs a hand mirror from the counter and holds it up. In the reflection, Dean sees his own back. The area where he was stabbed is completely smooth. The only that Dean ever got hurt is in a short stripe of light skin - a mark better fit for a papercut than a jab from a giant nail. 

“What the hell…”

“Dude, did Jack heal you or something?”

“No way. I asked him to, he said no.”

“Well it looks like something did,” Sam says. “But… what? And why the scar?”

“And why are my legs still bust?” Dean says, lifting his leg up an impressive amount for “bust.” Sam thinks for a moment, and the realization hits him.

“Hey Dean,” Sam scoffs. “How’s physical therapy going?”

“Great, actually,” Dean says. “I’ve regained a lot of strength and - oh. OH.” 

It’s Jason. Jason is healing him.

\---

It’s evening. The sky is red. Sam and Dean linger by the car, across the street from the physical therapy office, watching as the last patients of the day leave. The parking lot becomes sparse as one-by-one they drive away. Dean trains his binoculars on the building. He can see people inside, but he can’t see Jason. Maybe it’s his day off?

“Dean,” Sam says, slapping his shoulder. Jason exits the building.

“Stay here,” Dean says. Sam starts to protest, but Dean is already across the street.

“Hey, Jason!” Dean calls out amicably, waving as he approaches the building.

“Dean - you don’t have an appointment today,” Jason says.

“I know, I just thought we should have a chat,” Dean says, gesturing with his head. “C’mon.”

Jason says goodbye to a few of his colleagues, and he and Dean round the corner to the side of the building.

“I think I know what this is about,” Jason says calmly.

Dean pouts.

“You do?” Dean says incredulously. 

“Listen, I’m flattered.”

“Flattered…”

“It’s just, I have a husband. And you’re my patient! It wouldn’t -”

“Oh. Oh! Woah, wait a second,” Dean says, flustered. “That’s not what this is.”

“... It’s not?”

“Nah, man. I don’t swing that way. Or, I mean, I guess I do but…” Dean’s voice trails off. Jason raises his eyebrows at him. “But that’s. No. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”

“No, don’t be. Don’t be. You... ” Dean looks him up and down. “Don’t be.”

“Well, why are you here then?” Jason asks as Sam approaches.

Dean clears his throat.

“Look, my brother and I know your little secret,” Dean says, sticking a finger in Jason’s face.

“My secret,” Jason repeats.

“We know that this whole ‘physical therapy’ thing is a front,” Dean says.

“Yeah!” Sam adds. “We know that you’re really healing people.”

“So what are you, huh?” Dean asks. “A witch? A reaper?”

Jason looks at Dean like he’s stupid.

“Oh, he’s an angel!” Sam exclaims.

“Bingo,” Jason says.

“I don’t get it, why would an angel be working at a place like this? Or at all, for that matter?” Dean asks.

“It pays the bills,” Jason replies. “Look, I’ve got kids! I’ve got mouths to feed. And it helps that this is something I’m pretty good at.”

“So what do you want from me?” Dean asks.

“I want you to get better. Look, it’s not my fault a Winchester fell in my lap. I’m just minding my own business.”

“Look, I don’t believe in coincidences,” Dean says. “So spit it out. What’s your end-game here, pal?”

Jason sighs.

“Okay, fine. I was curious,” Jason admits.

“Curious? Curious about what?” Sam asks.

“I didn’t think the rumors were true,” Jason says. “Dean Winchester, destined to certain death. Written in stone, until it wasn’t.”

“You mean how God wanted to kill us?” Sam asks

“Sure, we kicked him off his ivory tower,” Dean adds. “Do you want an autograph or something?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Jason says. His expression fills with curious wonder. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Sam demands.

“You were dead,” Jason tells Dean. “I felt the wind change. The clock turned back, the ashes reassembled. What happened had no longer happened, and somehow, you, were alive.”

Sam connects the dots.

“Dean,” Sam says. “After you got back from the hospital - Patience called me. She told me she had a vision that you died at the barn.”

“Wait really?” Dean replies.

“Now that I think about it, you’ve come close to death a lot this month. The barn, those sorority girls, the healing spells…”

“When I was in the woods with Charlie, too! A tree almost fell on me!”

“This is serious,” Jason says. “Something rewrote time. Something powerful. And whatever it is, it needs you alive.”

“But what? And why?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you would be the one to tell me,” Jason says. Jason crouches down so that he is eye level with Dean. “Whatever it is, it has an interest in you.”

Jason puts a hand on Dean’s knee. Dean jerks his wheelchair back.

“At least we know it’s on our side,” Sam says.

“For now,” Jason says grimly. “Whatever this is, you have to handle it.”

“We will,” Dean says.

“For real. I can’t deal with another world-threatening cosmic threat,” Jason says, sauntering over to a nearby grey Ford Fiesta. “Back when the apocalypse hit, I had to miss a Vampire Weekend concert. Never again.”

Jason waves with two fingers.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Dean.”

He gets in the car, and drives off.

“Should we be worried?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “We don’t even know what’s doing this.”

“What am I supposed to do, then?”

Sam shrugs.

“Not die, I guess.”

\---

A few days later, Dean and Sam are sitting in the bunker, scouring the news like they normally do, looking for potential cases. Fast food wrappers and a couple empty beer bottles are scattered across the table. Sam finds a couple weird news stories - a two headed snake, some lady claiming to have birthed an alien baby - nothing up their alley. He tries to do research for his book instead, but he gets distracted by Dean’s furious typing.

“Dean?”

“What,” Dean says, not looking up.

“What are you doing?”

“Research. What are you doing?”

“It doesn’t sound like it,” Sam says. He stands up to get a look at Dean’s computer screen, at which Dean slams the laptop shut.

“Are you writing in your diary or something?”

“No. It’s nothing,” Dean replies.

“Then let me see.” Sam reaches for the laptop and Dean pulls it away.

“No.” Dean hugs the laptop against his chest.

“Dean, just let me -” Sam grabs the laptop. They both pull on it, but Sam manages to pull it away. He opens it.

“Is this a resume?” Sam asks.

“...Maybe,” he says. Sam raises his eyebrows at him.

“Maintenance at Harvelle’s Roadhouse, construction worker,” Sam reads. “Car repair… proficiency in guns?”

“I am proficient!”

“This is pretty crap, even for a guy who’s never had a real job in his life,” Sam says. “What’s this for, anyway?”

“I figure since hunting’s off the table, I should look for other options.”

“Like, a job. A real job,” Sam says, surprised. “So, what, you’re… retiring?”

“You said it yourself, Sammy. I can’t work like this.”

“Yeah, for now. But if you get better, or if Cas can heal you -”

“Sam, let me ask you something,” Dean says, leaning on the table. “Do you like hunting?”

“That’s not why we do it,” Sam replies.

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

Sam thinks for a moment.

“No, I suppose I don’t,” Sam says.

“Exactly. We do it because we have to. Because it’s our duty to help people, right?” Dean says.

“Right.”

“Sam, I didn’t choose this life. Neither of us did. We’ve been doing this since we were kids. Don’t we deserve a break? To lead normal lives?” 

“I guess at a certain point I stopped thinking that was possible,” Sam replies. “But you’re not wrong.” 

Sam takes a seat next to Dean. He sets the laptop down on the table, opens the laptop back up, and starts clicking and dragging and typing.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks.

“I’ve written a resume before,” Sam says. “I’m helping.”

\---

Castiel strides down the stark while halls of Heaven, his heels clacking on the linoleum tiles. It's a dull, corporate scene that provides an air of structures and stability to the other angels. To Cas, it provides the emotional equivalent of nausea. This is the one part of Heaven that, since Jack's ascension to godhood, has remained mostly unchanged. The only difference is the glass windows are now plastered with inspirational posters. "Hang in there, kitty," says one, depicting a kitten hanging from a branch. Castiel is not a kitten, and so this does nothing for him.

"Hey Cas, can I get your thoughts on something?" says a portly angel, stepping out from his cubicle. He wears glasses - angels cannot have poor eyesight, so this is a bold fashion choice.

"Sure," Cas says, eyeing the hallway. He has a meeting with Jack, and he doesn't want to be late.

"It'll be quick," the angel says, noticing Cas' reluctance. "There is a couple who just arrived - A man and a woman who died together in a car crash. I would allocate them together, but the man has a late wife who is waiting for him here."

"Have the couple meet with the ex-wife. Inform them of their options, and let them discuss. Should they decide to stay together, offer them counselling. If not, add the vestigial wife to the dating registry," Castiel says.

"You just did my job for me. Thank you," the angel says. 

Cas nods in acknowledgement, and makes his way to Jack's office. Like the rest of this section of heaven, the changes are minimal. Most starkly, the throne has been replaced by a collection of brightly colored bean bag chairs. Jack reclines, sunken into a blue bean bag, wearing a mauve t-shirt, on which are printed the words, "Not Today Satan”. His hands are folded in his lap. His eyes are distant, and glow yellow. 

"Jack?" Cas says, knocking on the open door. Jack blinks, and his eyes are normal again.

"Hello Cas! It's good to see you. Please, sit," Jack says, gesturing his open palm towards the red beanbag across from him. Cas reluctantly lowers himself into the chair. His knees come up to his chest. 

"Cas, have you ever seen a lion chase a zebra?" Jack asks, leaning forward and pressing his fingertips together. 

"Yes, many times," Cas replies, unsure where this is going. 

"Who do you root for? Who do you hope will win the race?"

Cas pauses to think.

"Before I would have said neither," Cas says. "But considering it now, I suppose I would prefer the zebra survive. Why should being weak or slow condemn a creature to death?" 

"I thought the same, once, " Jack says. "Today I witnessed just this - a zebra chased down in the savanna, just escaping the jaws of a lion by a hair. I was elated. Until I saw the lion, return empty-handed and hungry to her cubs. She could not provide them food to eat, and because of this, one of the cubs starved. It was dead by the next morning." 

"Jack, why are you telling me this?" 

"I want to create a world that is free of suffering. How can I do this when pain is already ingrained into the world we have? Humans hurt each other, but that hurt helps them grow. Does that then justify the pain?" 

"I understand your dilemma,” Cas replies. “The impulse is to grab the world and mangle it into shape. This is what I tried to do when I was in your position, but I was too prideful. It only caused more suffering.” 

"The answer can't be to do nothing, though."

"Of course not. But you can reduce the pain in the world, and still shoulder the burden of knowing that pain can never be fully eliminated. " 

"But then how can I be certain my choices are the right ones?" 

"You can't. That's the challenge,” Cas says. He can see Jack’s frustration. “But the fact that you're asking these questions is good. That doubt gives me faith in you."

Jack rubs his hands across his face with a groan. 

“I thought I made the right choice with Dean, leaving him incapacitated,” Jack says. “I thought that it would lead to his happiness.”

“You doubt whether or not the pain he experiences now is a necessary evil.”

“I thought that rest was what he wanted. I thought this would teach him that he was capable of it.”

“Maybe that’s not the full picture,” Cas replies. “Maybe his desire for peace is conditional.”

“Then... what’s missing?”

Cas knows the answer. Of course he knows the answer.

“I don’t know,” Cas lies.

Jack gazes melancholically at the cat-themed motivational poster on the wall.

“Jack,” Cas says. “I think it’s time to initiate the second part of our plan.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. We’ve dragged this on long enough. It’s time.”

“I’ll make the announcement.”

\---

Dean gets used to the rhythm of things. Sam fits the bunker with ramps so it’s easier for Dean to get over ledges. When Sam is gone, Dean calls Charlie or Jodie or Claire. He gets lonely. Sometimes he calls Sam, too, just to bother him. He takes Miracle for walks. He spends a lot of time doing research for Sam’s hunts, but there’s a lot of time in the day, and he quickly learns that he needs hobbies. He starts playing a guitar he had laying around, one he bought a while back and never had time to play. It turns out there’s a lake nearby, so sometimes Dean takes Miracle out there to run free while he goes fishing. He’s brought home a few big ones, and the feeling he gets when he shows Sam what he’s caught feels almost as good as killing a monster. Sam always gets home bloodied or bruised, and inexorably tired, but he’s happy to see his brother happy. And Dean is happy. Almost. 

Dean sits by the lake, at the edge of a dock, watching the water ripple. The sharp night air is refreshing. All that time cooped up, all those beers in his belly - it’s a welcome shock to the system. Two street lamps, flanking him on either side. They emit an orange glow that leaves golden stripes in the waves. Dean looks to the sky, hazy black, scattered with stars like dust on an old photograph. He prays.

“Cas,” he says, softly. “I hope you can hear me. I hope I’m not too late.”

Dean balls up his fists. He takes a deep breath.

“I know what it’s like to feel like you’re only worth what you can do for others. To feel like you have to justify the space you take up. I always thought I had to prove myself constantly, to fight evil. And I did a lot of good by that. But this life has a way of beating you down, and I let it because I thought I deserved it. I thought my life would end by the barrel of a gun or the claws of some monster, and it would be a shame because someone else would have to clean up the mess. But you taught me that I was worth more than that. Cas, I should have done the same for you.”

Tears start to well in his eyes. He blinks them away.

“You don’t need to prove yourself to me, man. You’ve already done enough. I don’t need your help or your loyalty or your sacrifice. I don’t even need you here with me. But I want you, dammit, and that should be enough.”

Dean feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see Castiel, sitting beside him.

“Cas!” Dean exclaims. He grabs Cas by the coat and pulls him into an embrace, resting his face against Cas’ starchy, cotton shirt. It smells like grass and cedar. Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s soft hair, and rests his palm on the back of his head.

“Cas, I need to tell you something,” Dean says, pulling away.

“No need,” Cas says, smiling softly. “I heard your prayer.”

Dean swallows hard.

“No. I need to tell you to your face. I need to stop being so scared.”

“Dean…”

“I love you, too, Cas. Of course I love you.”

Dean barely gets those last words out before Cas is kissing him. He clasps Dean’s face in his hands, stubble scratching his palm. It feels natural, as though they’ve done this a thousand times. Dean tugs Cas closer, desperately grasping at his collar and his hair, trying to close a gap that’s already closed. Warmth radiates against Dean’s face. Cas is glowing. There comes the sound of shattering as the street lamps explode, sending shards of glass raining down in every direction. Dean doesn’t even wince. He just keeps kissing Cas until he is forced to come up for air, and then kisses him some more.

Cas savors the last moments of the kiss, then pushes Dean away as if against his own will. Dean breathes in shaky, heavy breaths, and looks into Cas’ eyes. He tries to speak, but the words won’t come. There are none left to say. 

“I missed you,” Cas says with a smirk.

“You’re here now,” Dean replies. Cas’ expression turns blank, stoic, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes.

“Dean,” Cas says. “I can’t stay.”

“What? Why?” The feeling of respite that had been settling in Dean’s chest dissolves.

“Demons were only the first half of the plan,” Cas replies gruffly.

Dean’s face drops in realization.

“You’re sending the troops home,” Dean says. “No more demons, so of course, no more angels.”

Cas nods.

“Some will listen to reason,” Cas says. “Others won’t. Jack’s already made the announcement. I’ll find no peace until they’re all locked back in Heaven.”

“Yeah? And what about you?” Dean demands. Cas sighs, looking off across the water. 

“I’ll be the one to lock the door behind us,” Cas says. “If they don’t kill me in the process.”

“There has to be another way, Cas,” Dean says. “Me and Sam, we can help.”

“I didn’t come to ask for help,” Cas replies. “I came to say goodbye.” Dean looks at him in disbelief. It feels like a cruel joke, to be losing Cas again.

“Don’t you do that. Don’t you dare. Coming back here just to fuck off again. What about me, huh? What is this, Cas? Is this love?”

Cas’ expression is tormented. He can’t answer.

“Goodbye Dean.”

With a flutter of wings, the space beside Dean is empty. Dean inhales, looking around to find himself alone. He runs his hand over the grain of the dock where Cas had sat - still warm. He picks up a piece of glass and chucks it into the lake.

\---

Sam is woken up by Dean, vigorously shaking him. 

“SAM. Sam, wake up.” Sam breaths in through his teeth as he jolts upright, squinting at his surroundings, disorientated.

“Dean? What’s going on,” Sam says, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “It’s 5 in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Dean says. “Look, Cas dropped by and -”

“Cas?”

“Yeah, Cas. He’s about to do something really stupid. We need to find him before he does.”

“What is it? What’s he doing?”

“Get dressed, I’ll explain on the way.”

\---

Moments later, they’re in the car.

“So Cas is gonna lock himself in Heaven?” Sam asks.

“With all the other angels, yeah,” Dean replies. “Turn left.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re paying Jason a visit.”

“Jason? Physical therapy Jason? Why?”

“Cas said that some of the angels would go home, but he’d have to show down with the ones who didn’t. I have a feeling Jason isn’t leaving Earth any time soon.”

“So you’re thinking we might find Cas there,” Sam says.

“Exactly.”

“And then? What’s your plan after that?”

“We’ll reason with him.”

“With Jason?”

“No, with Cas. Tell him not to go through with this.”

“But, if all of the angels are going back to heaven, isn’t that a good thing?” Sam asks. “I mean, we tried and failed to do the same thing years back.”

“I don’t care about the other angels. I care about Cas. I can’t have him gone forever.” Sam raises his eyebrows.

“I see.”

“Shut up,” Dean says. “We’re here.”

They stop in front of a blue suburban house and get out of the car. It’s sunrise, and Sam barely gets a chance to appreciate the pink and yellow sky before Dean bangs his fist on the house’s front door. A man in a grey dressing gown, who is not Jason, opens the door.

“Hello?” the man states, confused.

“Sorry, I think we got the wrong -” Sam starts.

“Is your husband home?” Dean asks.

“Dean?” calls out a breathless voice from behind him. Dean turns to see Jason, returning from a jog.

“Hey Jason, how’s it hanging,” Dean greets.

“Honey, don’t worry. He’s one of my patients,” Jason tells his husband. “Go back inside. This won’t take long.” Jason’s husband reluctantly closes the door.

“What the hell are you doing, coming to my home?” Jason hisses at them.

“We think you might be in danger,” Sam says.

“Heard anything interesting on angel radio lately?” Dean asks. Jason’s expression becomes grim.

“Yes. The renegade angel suddenly wants us all to follow orders and come back home,” Jason replies. “Obviously I’m not going.”

“I don’t think he’s gonna give you a choice,” Dean says.

“Look,” Jason says. “I have a family. I have kids. Just because Castiel is friends with the new God doesn’t mean he can boss me around.”

“We don’t want him to go through with it either,” Sam explains. “We think he’s gonna come find you soon, and when he does, maybe we can get him to call this whole thing off.”

“You see, Cas has a family, too,” Dean says. “Us.”

“Okay,” Jason says. “So what do we have to do?”

“Wait until he shows up, I guess,” Sam replies.

It doesn’t take long.

“Jason,” comes Cas’ gravelly voice. “You have to come with - Sam? Dean? What are you doing here?” 

Cas stands in the middle of the street. He looks exhausted. Hair is plastered to his face. Dean approaches him.

“Cas, you can’t do this,” Dean says sternly.

“Do what, send Jason back to Heaven?” Cas asks, squinting.

“This isn’t about him. It’s about you, hightailing it,” Dean says.

“Hey!” Jason interjects, offended.

“I mean, yeah, you should leave him too,” Dean adds.

“It’s too late for that,” Cas says, marching forward. 

Sam puts a hand out to block him. Cas swats Sam’s hand away and shoves him aside. Sam goes flying backwards. He lands a hedge.

“CAS, COOL IT,” Dean yells. Cas pays him no mind.

“It’s time to go,” Cas tells Jason.

“Castiel,” Jason says. “I have a life here on Earth. I have a family.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Cas grunts. “This isn’t an order, it’s a courtesy. When I close those doors, it’ll wipe out every angel left on the planet. You included.”

Jason takes a moment to consider this. He looks between Sam and Dean. He turns to look at his house. He bows his head, takes a sharp inhale, and lets it out slowly.

“Then I’ll make sure you don’t get the chance,” Jason says. 

An angel blade slips out of Jason’s sleeve. He grips his fist around it and punches Cas in the nose. A splatter of blood flies through the air as Cas stumbles back into the street. As soon as Cas steadies himself, he lunges back at Jason, throwing a punch that lands square in his jaw. Jason smirks, gearing up to throw another blow, when Cas grabs him by the shirt collar pushes him. Jason goes flying through the air, slamming into the ground about a yard back. Cas strides forward.

“You’re powerful,” Jason says weakly.

“I’m new and improved,” Cas says. “You could say I’m ‘that bitch’.”

Cas readies his blade.

“WOAH WOAH WOAH, DE-ESCALATE! DE-ESCALATE!” Dean shouts. He puts himself in front of Castiel, blocking him.

“Dean move,” Cas demands.

“Cas. Buddy, listen to me, I have an idea,” Dean says. Cas is breathing heavily through his bloodied nose, jaw clenched, beautiful. Looking at Dean, his expression softens. Behind Dean, Jason lifts himself to his feet and lunges forward.

“Dean!” Castiel exclaims. Dean feels the cold blade press against his throat. Jason holds it there.

“Dude, what the hell?” Sam exclaims.

“Everything in my life. Everything I love, you’re trying to take away from me,” Jason says, his eyes locked on Castiel. “Well I know what you love. I should show you how that feels.”

“You wouldn’t hurt him,” Castiel says.

“Wouldn’t I? Am I a better man than you, Castiel? How many people have you killed, members of your own dying kind, all for this human?” 

Dean’s skin splits under the pressure of the blade.

“STOP. NOW,” Cas demands, panicked. 

It’s faint, and Dean can barely make it out, but Cas’ skin is glowing.

“That’s the difference between you and me,” Jason says. “I know who my enemies are.” 

Jason jabs his blade at Cas. Cas grabs his arm mid-swing. Jason’s blade clatters to the ground as Cas lifts him off the ground. He struggles to free himself - kicking and wriggling. His demeanor is that of a captured animal.

Cas’ fear and panic grows to such an intensity that it comes out the other side as calm determination - His eyes glow. His hands glow. His body glows. There’s a gentle wind.

“I am not your enemy,” Cas says. 

Cas relaxes his grip, and drops Jason onto the tarmac. 

Jason scrambles backwards, scraping his feet and elbows against the ground. Before he gets the chance to stand, Cas places a foot on his chest, pinning him there like a butterfly on display. Jason clasps his hand around Cas’ ankle and struggles to break free - Cas doesn’t budge an inch. Cas grips the angel blade tight in his fist. His knuckles are white.

“Dean. You said you had an idea,” Cas says.

“I do, if the both of you would just-” Dean lowers his hands in a calm down motion. 

“Tell me your idea,” Cas demands.

“Okay - You said closing the doors to Heaven would kill the angels left on Earth, right? There’s no way Jason could stay on Earth as an angel.”

“Yes, that is accurate,” Cas replies.

“Well, what if Jason wasn’t an angel.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas says.

“Dean are you suggesting - “ Sam starts.

“I give up my grace in exchange for remaining on Earth,” Jason interjects. 

“What do you think?” Dean asks. Jason considers his position. Castiel is stronger than him. It’s not likely that he’ll win this fight.

“I’ll do it, if it means you’ll leave me alone.”

“You must understand that if you make this decision, it will be permanent,” Cas says. “You’ll be human. You’ll age like a human, and you’ll spend the rest of your days here on Earth.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Jason says with a weak smile. Castiel sighs, and puts the blade back in his sleeve.

“Okay then,” Cas says. From inside his coat, he procures a small glass vial. He removes his foot from Jason’s chest, and crouches down next to him.

“You’re sure,” Castiel checks. Jason nods, propping himself up on his elbows. 

Cas uncorks the vial. He places his fingertips under Jason’s chin, tilting his head back just so, and positions the vial against his blood-stained lips. From Jason’s mouth, a white effervescent smoke emerges. It flows out of his mouth, swirling into the vail. As the last of it escapes, Jason falls back. Castiel returns the cork to the vail, and stashes it away in his coat. He places two fingers on Jason’s forehead. His wounds clear up. Cas extends a hand. Jason accepts it. Castiel helps him to his feet.

“You’re different from the angel I once knew,” Jason says. “For better or for worse.”

“As are you,” Cas replies.

“I learned, somewhere along the line, that there are things more important than Heaven,” Jason says, glancing back at the house where his family are inside, starting their morning.

“With that, I certainly agree,” Cas says with a smile. He puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Take care.”

“You as well,” Jason replies. He waves a solemn goodbye to the brothers, and trots back to his house. They watch the door close behind him.

“And what about you?” Dean asks. Castiel turns to face him. “Will you stay?”

“I have to finish what I’ve started. Of this much, I’m certain,” Cas replies, looking off into the distance.

“And then?”

“And then, I don’t know,” Castiel replies. He looks back at Dean. “I had a plan, before, but things are much more complicated now.”

“In that case, I’m not asking this time,” Dean says. “I’m telling you. Stay.” 

Cas crouches down so he and Dean are eye level, and cups his face with his hand. Cas smiles. Wind rustles the trees as he and Dean stare into each others eyes - Dean searching, Cas in admiration. Cas leans in and kisses Dean on the forehead, gently. A soothing, familiar feeling washes over Dean. It starts from his forehead and spreads through his whole body, down to his toes. And then Cas is gone.

“Cas…” Dean whispers to the empty space before him. He grips the armrests of his chair and pushes himself onto his feet.

“Dean!” Sam calls out, rushing over to help him.

“I’m fine, Sam,” Dean says. He stands up fully and brushes off his thighs.

“You’re not, though, are you,” Sam states. Dean doesn’t look at him. He just walks to the car, and gets into the driver’s seat.

“You coming?” Dean says, gripping the wheel. Sam gets in the car, and they drive away.

\---

When they arrive at the bunker, Dean immediately takes a seat.

“I’m gonna pick up some lunch. You in the mood for anything in particular?” Sam asks.

“Nope,” Dean says, drumming on the table. He checks the clock.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks.

“Waiting,” Dean says.

“Oh,” Sam says. “Look, Dean. I know this is hard, but I don’t think Cas is -”

“No. He’s coming back.” 

Sam isn’t so sure, but he decides it’d be fruitless to try to argue.

“Okay,” Sam says.

Sam goes and picks up lunch from a local deli. He brings back a sandwich for Dean, who is still sitting in the same spot when he comes back. Sam offers him the sandwich, but he refuses, saying he isn’t hungry. The day goes on. Dean passes some time reading, then getting bored of reading. He paces around the room. He does push-ups, He bounces a tennis ball against the brick wall. Every so often, the thought creeps into his head - maybe Castiel isn’t coming back. Maybe he’s back in Heaven already. Dean brushes those thoughts aside. Eventually it becomes night, and eventually Sam goes to sleep, but Dean stays awake. He stays awake until his eyes become heavy, and blinking feels like a relief. His blinks become longer, until eventually he blinks for too long, and he’s asleep - face down on the desk, resting on crossed arms.

There’s a knock on the door, which causes Dean to jolt awake. Still coming to his senses, he bounds up the stairs, skipping steps on the way. He swings the door open. On the other side stands Castiel.

“Hello Dean,” Cas says with a weary grin.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean exclaims. He pulls Cas into a bear hug, burying his face into the crook of Cas’ neck. Cas lifts his arms slowly, and wraps them around Dean. He grips him tight.

“What took you so long?”

“I told you, I had to finish what I started,” Cas says.

“Well did you?” Dean asks. Cas smiles, and extends a closed fist. He turns it upwards, and opens it. Inside is a vial, full of grace.

“You’re human.”

“Guilty as charged,” Cas says, tilting his head in good nature.

“You gave up being an angel to stay with us?”

“Of course. To stay with you.”

Dean can’t tell if he’s imagining it, but Cas looks different somehow. Handsome. It could be a certain flush to his skin that makes him look fervently alive. It could be the way his lips stay parted after he speaks, or the way the darting saccades of his clear blue eyes betray his air of steady determination. Or it could be that, for the first time, Dean is allowing himself to really look at him.

“Well, how do you feel?’ Dean asks. Cas thinks for a moment.

“Hungry,” Cas replies. Dean scoffs, a smile creeping up on his face.

“I think we can do something about that.”

\---

The drive to a 24-hour diner nearby. A full moon shines overhead from behind thin, fleecy clouds. Other cars are sparse. Dean tries to watch the road. He tries. He looks over at Cas, who is staring at him with those piercing blue eyes. Cas doesn’t take his eyes off him. Dean tries to suppress a smile, but Cas can see this, which makes Cas smile. Dean furrows his brow, looking back at the road. This worries Cas, as though by smiling he broke some unspoken rule. That is, until Dean reaches out and places a hand on his thigh. Dean says nothing. He drives.

There are only a few other patrons in the diner - a group of drunk teenagers, and a police officer. Dean and Cas sit on opposite sides of a squeaky red booth, where an irritable waitress takes their orders. Dean orders two of the most elaborate burgers on the menu, along with a couple beers.

“To celebrate,” Dean says, lifting his beer. Cas does the same. “Welcome home buddy.”

“Thank you,” Cas says. Dean takes a sip. Cas chugs his.

“Woah, careful now,” Dean says. “That’ll actually affect you this time ‘round.”

“Intoxication, yes, I remember,” Cas says. He leans forward. “I’ve had a long day.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Dean says. “How did giving the other angels their pink slips go.”

“What matters is that it’s over now,” Cas says grimly.

“That bad, huh,” Dean says. The waitress comes over with their burgers.

“Another beer, please,” Cas says to her.

“Make that two,” Dean adds.

Cas picks up the burger with trepidation. Dean is already chowing down on his own. It’s been awhile since Cas has done this. He takes a bite.

“Whaddya think?” Dean asks, his mouth full. Cas swallows.

“I like it,” Cas says, smiling.

“Adda boy!” Dean cheers.

“The last time I was human, the experience was colored by confusion and dejection. However, food,” Cas says, looking lovingly at the burger. “Food provided me with great joy.”

“Yeah, you see? Being human isn’t so bad,” Dean says wistfully.

“I suppose it’s not,” replies Cas, directing that loving expression at Dean. Dean diverts his gaze.

After they finish their burgers, they stay for another drink. Then they hit the road, chatting and laughing along the way. Dean had forgotten, throughout all the drama and heartache and fear, that Cas is actually fun to hang out with. Seeing Cas now, loose and ruddy-cheeked from the beer, beaming at Dean as he makes some dumb joke about a movie Cas has never heard of, Dean can’t help but love him.

The walk into the bunker arm-in-arm. Dean is mostly sober, but Cas has a low tolerance. They hobble down the stairs, footsteps clanging. Dean steadies himself on the railing as Cas weighs him down. Once they get down the stairs, Cas pulls Dean’s body close against his. He nuzzles his head against the crook of Dean’s neck and kisses him just beneath his jaw.

“We should get you to bed,” Dean says, as Cas continues to kiss him, humming in contentment. “You’re human now, and humans need to sleep.” 

“I am quite tired,” Cas mutters. His breath is hot against Dean’s skin.

“Hey…” Dean coos. “C’mon.” 

Dean pushes the hair out of Cas’ face, and firmly kisses his lips. When they part, Cas looks up at Dean with half-lidded eyes and a dopey grin. Dean swallows hard. He drags Cas to the hallway.

“I’ll get you something to sleep in,” Dean says, entering his own bedroom. He rummages through the drawers. Cas slumps against the doorway.

“Dean, can I sleep with you?” Cas asks innocently. Dean’s heart drops.

“That’s pretty forward, even coming from you,” Dean replies. He continues looking through the drawer, trying to conceal his rush of adrenaline elicited by the question.

“This isn’t a sexual proposition,” Cas clarifies. Dean is both disappointed and relieved. “I’m weak. And I’m afraid. I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

It dawns on Dean how vulnerable Cas is, and that being vulnerable is probably not something he’s used to.

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Dean says sympathetically. “There’s room for you here.”

\---

It’s morning. Sam makes himself coffee. He figures he should check on Dean. Assuming that Dean is still waiting in the main room, he heads there, but finds the room empty. _Maybe he gave up on waiting._ Sam takes a melancholic sip of coffee. _Or maybe he got himself into trouble._ Sam sets down his mug and decides to keep looking. He marches to Dean’s room and knocks on the door. Castiel answers. He’s wearing a robe, and his hair is wet.

“Cas?” Sam says.

“Hello Sam.”

“You’re okay!”

“Yes, aside from losing my grace, I’m okay,”

“What are you doing -” Sam begins to ask, before locking eyes with Dean. Dean’s eyes widen and he rushes over, booting Cas out of the way. Dean points a finger at Sam.

“Shut up,” Dean says.

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam retorts with a smirk. 

“Yeah well you - you -” Dean stammers. He gives up, and slams the door in Sam’s face.

\---

Sam is making breakfast when Dean and Cas join him in the kitchen.

“Hello again,” Cas greets.

“Hey!” Sam says.

“Sorry about that earlier, Sammy,” Dean says coolly. “Cas just needed a change of clothes and he dropped by to pick some up.”

“Right,” Sam says, nodding along incredulously. “How do you feel about eggs and bacon?”

“That sounds very good, thank you Sam,” Cas says. He and Dean sit down.

“So, you’re fully human now, is that right?” Sam asks, scraping the eggs onto their plates. He places the plates in front of them.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“How do you feel about that?” Sam sets out the plate of bacon on the table

“Well, it means I’m now a feeble shadow of the man I once was. I have no powers, no strength. I’ll age, and eventually die, and I’ll waste much of that finite time sleeping, or worse yet, urinating,” Cas says. “But I think I made the right decision.”

“That’s good to hear buddy,” Dean says, slapping him on the back. Dean takes a bite of bacon.

“Good?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, really good,” Dean says, nodding as he chews.

“Good,” Sam says mischievously. “Because it’s veggie bacon.” Dean opens his mouth and lets the chewed-up bacon drop out with a plop onto the plate.

“Dude, gross!” Sam exclaims.

“You could’ve warned me,” Dean says.

“That was indeed very gross,” Cas concurs, chewing contently on his own piece of veggie bacon. Dean straightens his back and keeps eating his eggs.

“Sam, what’s wrong? You look troubled,” Cas says.

“Oh, do I? No, I was just thinking,” Sam replies.

“Thinking ‘bout what?” Dean asks with his mouth full.

“Just… what now? Y’know? No more demons, no more angels. We could keep hunting like the good old days, but -”

“No, like I said, Sam, I’m done,” Dean states.

“You are?” Cas asks.

“That’s what I thought,” Sam says. “And, I mean, you saw how it’s gone with me hunting without you. If you’re not doing it, I don’t want to either.”

“I suppose, in that case, it would be foolish for me to continue in this line of work as well,” Cas adds.

“Do you have any idea what you’ll do now?” Dean asks.

“Well, Eileen and I have our book. Without hunting I’ll have more time to work on it,” Sam says. “What about you two?”

“Well, I’ll go wherever Dean goes,” Cas says.

“And I haven’t figured that out yet,” Dean says. “But I’ll get there.”

The group is silent for a moment. They reflect. Cas tentatively eats his eggs. The fork feels awkward in his hand - he grips it in a fist, but the eggs are flimsy and break when he tries to stab them. He manages a bite. They’re soft. He chews, although he’s not entirely sure if that’s necessary, and swallows. Next to him, Dean gags, gripping the table.

“C’mon, the eggs too?” Sam says.

“Choking,” Dean wheezes, banging his palm against the table. His face turns red. Sam’s annoyance turns to panic.

“Cas, do something! Heimlich!” Sam shouts. Cas stands and positions himself behind Dean. He wraps his arms around Dean’s middle and gently squeezes, to no avail. Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam pushes Cas out of the way. Sam performs the heimlich maneuver himself. Dean croaks as Sam’s arms repeatedly lift him off the ground. With a final tug, the slimy blob of egg soars through the air and lands with a splat on the tile floor. Sam releases Dean, who steadies himself on the table, gasping for breath.

“Dean, are you okay?” Cas asks gruffly.

“Yeah, thanks for the help, buddy,” Dean replies sarcastically.

“Are you kidding me? Again?” comes a woman’s voice. The boys jolt in surprise. There’s a woman standing in the middle of the kitchen. She has sleek red hair, and a gaunt face.

“Jessica?” Dean says.

“Dean, who is this woman,” Cas demands.

“She’s a reaper,” Sam says.

“Actually, Death now,” she clarifies. “There was a vacancy, thanks to this drama queen.” She gestures towards Cas.

“What do you want,” Cas asks her.

“I’m trying to do my job, but _someone_ just won’t die!” she says accusingly.

“Have you been the one trying to kill Dean?” Sam asks.

“Of course not!”

“I don’t buy it,” Dean says.

“Well you better, because it’s the truth,” she says. “I’m just here to collect your soul and bring you to Heaven. Simple job. But somehow, over and over, you keep getting so close to dying, and you live! Why are you edging me, Dean? This should be over with already!”

“So you expect me to apologize for what? Not dying?” Dean says.

“I expect you to cut it out!”

“Well, sorry to break it to you but I don’t have any part in this,” Dean replies with a shrug.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Jessica says.

“According to who?” Sam asks.

“Forces greater than you or me.”

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re not big of the whole destiny thing,” Dean adds.

“This isn’t destiny, it’s bigger than that,” Jessica says grimly. “I don’t know how it’s even possible that you’re alive right now.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

“It’s hard to explain. I just - I’ll show you. Come here,” she says. They waddle towards her. “Closer. C’mon. I don’t bite.” Jessica wraps her arms around them.

In an instant, they’re another room, somewhere else. It’s a study. Stacks of paper are strewn about. There are big bookcases with vacant-eyed bobble heads on the shelves. Sam does a double-take - the bobble heads look like the three of them. In front of them, at the far end of the room, is an empty leather chair behind a broad wooden desk. Atop it sits a half-drunk mug of coffee, perched on a stack of notebooks, and at the center of the desk is a laptop, open, it’s screen glowing.

“What are these?” Sam asks, pointing at the funko pops.

“Don’t touch those,” Jessica says. “Don’t touch anything. Just look here.”

She walks over to the desk, and they follow.

“What the hell,” Dean mutters. There’s a document open on the screen - black, times new roman on a white page. His breath quickens as he reads the words on the page. They’re describing what he’s doing - reading words on a page, breath quickening. He tries to slam the laptop shut, but when he touches it there’s a shocking flash of bright light, and he’s flung backwards. He hits the wall and slumps to the floor.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Dean repeats. Cas rushes to his side to help him up.

“I told you not to touch anything,” Jessica says.

“What is that?” Sam asks.

“It’s a computer,” Jessica starts.

“Yeah, we got that. Why is it writing everything we do?” Dean shouts.

“This object, this room - it’s old. Only a few beings have access to it. It doesn’t always look like this. Sometimes it’s a notebook, sometimes it’s in a park, but invariably, everything that happens - everything important, at least - is written down, here,” Jessica explains.

“Does it write down when I take a crap?” Dean asks, disturbed.

“Do you take a lot of plot-important craps, Dean?” Jessica replies.

Dean shrugs.

“Who’s writing it?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s accurate. Or it was, until…” she trails off. “Look at this.”

Jessica takes a seat in the chair, and trails her manicured finger across the laptop trackpad. She scrolls up - there’s a description of their breakfast, just moments earlier, only when it gets to the point when Dean choked on his eggs, the letters jumble and fractals of color streak across the page, obscuring the text.

“What is this?” Sam asks

“The file. It’s corrupted.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas says.

“The events that were supposed to happen on the day of your death, and the time after, are encrypted here on this file,” Jessica says.

“What happened, originally?” Sam asks.

“When Dean was dying, you didn’t go for help,” she says.

“I – of course I went for help. Why would I let my brother die?”

“Because he told you to,” she says. Sam swallows, glancing nervously at Dean.

“What happened after that?” Dean says gruffly.

“Well,” Jessica says. “In the original version of events, you give a long, beautiful speech about family, and die. And it’s super sad, but you go to Heaven, so it’s fine. And then, Sam, you get to live the rest of your life. You get married -”

“To who?” Sam interrupts.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jessica says. “You have a kid, you name him Dean because you’re adorable, you grow old and then you die! But afterwards you meet Dean in Heaven. Happy ending.”

“That doesn’t sound like a happy ending to me,” Dean says in disbelief. “I get killed by a random vampire? After everything, that’s what does it?”

“Yeah that’s awful,” Sam adds.

“Where am I in all of this?” Cas asks. Jessica shrugs.

“So, the file got corrupted, which made all that… not happen,” Sam clarifies.

“Exactly,” she says.

“What corrupted the file?” Dean asks.

“You guys, I thought. But if not you, I have no idea. Like I said, very few people have access to this room.”

“If that story wants Dean to die,” Sam says, pointing at the computer. “And he keeps avoiding death, maybe whatever corrupted the file original file is still changing things.”

“Who else has access to this room?” Cas asks.

“Most primordial entities, save for the archangels. So there’s me and God, for starters.”

“You mean Jack,” Cas says.

“No, it can’t be Jack,” Dean says. “He’s not like Chuck. He wouldn’t mess around with this type of thing,”

As Dean speaks, Jack walks into the room wearing a robe and slippers, and holding a bag of doritos.

“Jack?” Dean says.

“Hello! I didn’t expect to see you guys here,” Jack says. 

“Jack, what are you doing here?” Sam asks.

“I was gonna watch a movie,” he says, gesturing towards the laptop. “Dorito?” 

Jack outstretches the bag of chips toward the group. Dean takes one, to which Sam gives him a dirty look.

“Jack, are you responsible for this? Did you change Dean’s fate?” Cas asks.

“No! Well, yes. It was an accident,” Jack says.

“What do you mean, an accident?” Sam asks. “What happened?”

Jack huffs.

“Well, this thing works like a normal computer,” he says. “So a while back I decided to watch a movie.”

“What movie?” Dean interjects.

“Jumanji.”

“Classic.”

“I’ve done it before, too. It’s great, there’s no lag,” Jack continues. “But this one time, when I opened the movie download, the screen went black. I had to reboot the computer, and when I did, the file looked the way it does now.”

“You gave it a virus?” Sam exclaims.

“Yes. Are you guys mad?”

“I’m the furthest thing from mad,” Dean says. “You saved my ass.”

“So, you don’t control what is written?” Cas asks.

“No - this thing writes about me, too,” Jack says. “But exactly what is written does depend on who the protagonist is, which I do have control over.”

“Protagonist?” Dean interjects.

“Yeah, heroes, like you guys,” Jack says fondly.

“I think I get what’s going on,” Sam says.

“You do?” Dean asks.

“It sounds like the story was meant to end with your death, but whatever Jack did to the computer made it so the story couldn’t end. All this almost dying is the story trying to fix that.”

“Woah, so I can’t die? Awesome,” Dean says

“Even without dying, you could be tortured, mutilated-” Cas says grimly.

“Okay, liven up, Eeyore,” Dean says.

“Cas is right,” Sam says. “If the universe is hell-bent on killing you, I don’t want to find out how far it’ll go.”

“Okay, so you said you could make it so we’re not the protagonists anymore, right? Maybe that would work?” Dean suggests.

“I’m reluctant to do so. That would also still mean ending your story, in a way. It could kill you,” Jack replies. “But perhaps there is another way..."

Jack hands Jessica the bag of chips. He takes a step towards Dean. He looks determined. For the first time, looking at Jack, Dean doesn’t see a powerful monster or a tortured kid. He sees someone aware of his responsibilities. He sees an adult. 

“Dean, do you trust me?” Jack asks. 

“I do,” Dean says.

“Good,” Jack says. He takes a deep breath, and places two fingers on Dean’s forehead. Jack’s eyes flash gold. Dean collapses to the floor.

“Did you just kill him?” Sam asks in a panic, dropping to his knees beside Dean. He slots a hand under Dean’s nose and presses two fingers to Dean’s neck. Nothing.

“He won’t be dead for long,” Jack says.

“Of course he won’t,” Jessica groans, slumping into a chair. “Why do I bother.”

Jack makes his way over to the computer. He sits down and leans forward, squinting at the computer screen. He sniffles. He clicks a few times, drags, then clicks a few more times, darting his eyes between the screen and Dean’s corpse. Jack makes one final click.

“Alright,” Jack says.

Jack stands, and as he does, he holds the computer with two hands, slowly raising it over his head. He hesitates, and looks at the others. Jessica, lounging apathetically in her chair. Dean, limp and lifeless, cradled in his brother’s arms. Sam, doing the cradling, looking at Jack in tortured distress. And Cas, standing upright, looking at Jack with absolute faith.

Jack inhales sharply, and smashes the computer against the floor.


	2. Epilogue: One Year Later

There’s an auto-shop in Lebanon, Kansas. It’s just off of a main road, so it’s easy to get to. It sits across from a church, wedged between a faded laundromat and the small, cream and brown house of an elderly widow. Strips of green grass frame the parking lot - a vase expanse, coal black from recent repaving and divided with stark white lines, where a 1967 Chevy Impala glistens in the sunlight. The shop itself has wide broad windows all across the front that expose a modest waiting room, lined with leather chairs and stacks of chunky tires. A bell jingles whenever anyone enters. Led Zeppelin plays softly on the overhead speakers. They’re connected by a jumble of wires to a cassette player behind the front desk – Apparently, the owner is very particular about their music.

There’s a garage in the back - grey and concrete and lined with cars in various states of disrepair. Two employees huddle behind a red Volvo, hiked up on a car jack. One of them is middle aged - stout with a hefty salt-and-pepper beard. The other is young, gangly and freckled. They wear beige slacks and navy polo shirts, embroidered in small lettering with the words: “Winchester Auto.”

“I heard he’s a felon. On the run from the law,” the younger man whispers.

“You’re crazy, Bill,” drawls the older man. 

“I’m telling you - I looked him up on the web - no sign of him, nothing. Roger, it’s like he didn’t exist before this year.”

“You’re gonna have to buff this out,” Roger says, knocking on a scratch on the side of the car.

“I bet that guy in the trench coat he’s always got hanging around is his accomplice,” Bill continues. “It’s criminal activity, I’m telling you. How else would he get the money to start up a joint like this?”

“The way any man makes a decent living these days - An inheritance,” Roger chuckles.

“You think?”

“Well,” Roger says, lowering his voice. “I heard his old man collected cars - nice vintage ones. Rumor has it he sold them all, used the money to start fresh.”

“To escape his former life of crime!” Bill says.

“Could be,” Roger says.

“You ladies working or gossiping?” comes the voice of authority.

Dean saunters over, wiping black grease onto the towel draped over his shoulder. His hair is neat, and the creases under his eyes are from age, not stress. He wears a navy, short-sleeve button-down with the auto-stop logo, over a white t-shirt. A black cord hangs around his neck, at the end of which are two charms: a brass horned head, and a glass vial filled with a glimmering pearl-white substance.

“Just giving Billy here a few pointers,” Roger says.

“Well I’m heading out early,” Dean says, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. “Roger, you’ll make sure the place doesn’t burn to the ground?”

“Yeah, I can handle it.”

“Good,” Dean says. He gives the car a once-over, and points at the scratch. “Billy, you’re gonna have to buff that out.”

“Yes, sir,” Bill says.

Dean tosses on a stiff black jacket on his way out. It’s one of those days where the air is cold but the sun is oppressive. He squints in the sunlight, and the corners of his eyes wrinkle. He pulls a phone out of his back pocket and makes a call.

“Hey, Cas, you on your way?” Dean asks, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. 

Across the street, the door to the church opens, and Cas wanders out. He’s wearing his trench coat over a sky-blue sweater. Immediately confronted by the sun, he also shields his eyes with his hand.

“Yes, I’m leaving now,” Cas says.

“I see that.”

“Dean, what does one bring to a potluck?” Cas asks. He looks left and right, then jogs across the street.

“You guys are having a potluck?” Dean asks. 

Cas walks up to Dean.

“Shirley is bringing a casserole. Should I bring a casserole?” Cas asks into the phone. 

Dean makes a show of pressing the button to hang up. Cas awkwardly lowers the phone from his ear.

“I can make mac and cheese,” Dean says, patting Cas on the arm. He strides over to the car and opens the door.

“You can?”

“Yeah I - Hey!” Dean says, crossing his arms. “It’ll be good this time.”

“I’m sure,” Cas says, nodding along incredulously. 

“Get in the car.”

Cas doesn’t have a license. He can’t, because technically, legally, he does not exist. It’s the same reason why he and Dean don’t get married. It wouldn’t be possible Besides that, Dean shuts down any suggestion of a ceremony. “Why drag other people into it?” is Dean’s response. Sam, who spent upwards of 10 years being dragged into it, finds this point of contention ironic. Still, from time to time, Dean will refer to Cas as his husband, and Cas’ heart flutters.

Long story short, Dean drives.

“Did you feed the cat this morning?” Dean asks.

“Yes, first thing.”

“Crap. So did I.”

“Cats are incredibly smart. She knows that if she gets ornery, we’ll try to appease her. It’s strategic.”

“She played me like a damn fiddle.”

“She played both of us,” Cas says grimly.

“Y’know, I overheard the guys at work talking about you,” Dean says.

“Oh? What did they say?”

“They think we’re partners in crime, on the run from the law,” Dean says with a chuckle.

“Well, we have committed many crimes,” Cas replies. Dean’s smile drops.

“Well, sure, but – “

“And we are partners, in a way,” Cas adds.

“Huh… I guess you’re right,” Dean says, tapping the steering wheel. “Husbands in crime.”

There it is.

“Sam doesn’t know we’re coming,” Cas states.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean says, raising an eyebrow.

“Because it’s his first class, and you want to surprise him. And you will.”

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Yes. Just affirming the facts.”

“Right,” Dean says. “Well, we’re here.”

Dean parks the impala in front of a bar – or what used to be a bar. The windows are boarded up. Graffiti covers these boards. Most of it is generic, name tags and drawings and the like, but towards the right, just below eye level, is a small, unicursal hexagram.

Dean leads Cas. They round the corner into an alley, sidestepping an overflowing garbage can, and come to a dented metal door. Dean knocks rhythmically. There’s a clunk, and the door creaks open. Eileen pops her head out.

“Hey Eileen!” Dean says, signing as he speaks. Eileen puts a finger to her lips.

“Hello,” Cas signs, smiling fondly.

“Hi guys,” she signs. She’s wide-eyed in excitement. “Be quiet and follow me. Sam is teaching.”

They tip-toe in her wake through a dimly lit hallway and down a narrow set of stairs. As they descend, the light becomes brighter, and Sam’s voice becomes audible.

“...cure for lycanthropy and vampirism. It must be taken from the specific werewolf or vampire who turned the human, and it has to be administered in the early stages of infection.”

Eileen, Dean, and Cas emerge through a door in the back of the room. It’s a makeshift classroom - navy plastic chairs with desks attached to the arms form rows of semicircles along the linoleum floor. There’s a sizable audience - mostly young. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying a powerpoint slide on the far wall, titled “Werewolves and Vampires: Cure?” and displaying a photo of a blood-filled vial. The corner of the projection catches on Sam, creating a filter of blue light over half his face. He wears a blazer over a flannel, and his hair is tucked behind his ears.

Sam notices them as soon as they enter. Dean gives Sam two thumbs up, and Cas waves. Sam suppresses a smile.

“‘Early stage’ is loosely defined. The sooner the blood is administered the better,” Sam continues. 

The three of them shuffle into the back row. They sit. Dean flips the desk down, and leans his arm on it. He glances over the shoulder of the frizzy-haired student next to him. She’s scribbling on a notepad.

“Y’know, I taught him everything he knows,” Dean tells her.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she says sarcastically, not looking up from her notes.

A boy seated in front of them turns around and shushes them. Dean rolls his eyes. He settles into his chair and leans his face on his fist, eyes glazing over. Classroom learning was still as mind-numbing as he remembered. As his mind wanders, his eyelids grow heavy, and he doses off.

Dean is jolted awake by the sound of applause. Cas nudges him, and Dean joins in - clapping enthusiastically with a few “woop”s thrown in. Cas gives him a judgmental side-eye glance.

“Next lesson is on ghouls - I want you all to read chapter 3 in your textbooks to prepare,” Sam calls out. His students are already packing up their bags and talking among themselves. Dean hops over Cas and Eileen’s laps and makes his way through the crowd.

“Great stuff,” Dean says.

“Thanks, I could tell you enjoyed it,” Sam replies. He stacks up his notes.

“You know me, I was never into this nerdy stuff - but look at you! Professor Sam!”

“I’m not really a professor.”

He sets down his notes and gives Dean a hug.

“It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Sammy.”

Eileen and Cas weave through the crowd, and make their way to the front of the room.

“You did it!” Eileen exclaims. “I guess practicing 20 times last night was worth it.”

“It wasn’t that many times,” Sam protests.

“It kept me up all night,” Eileen mutters to Cas.

“Well it was excellent,” Cas says.

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam says. “Eileen, did you invite these two?”

“Guilty,” Eileen says.

“You guys should come over for dinner at the bunker,” Sam says. “We could catch up - It’s been too long.”

“A week isn’t that long,” Dean replies.

“We’d love to,” Cas says.

“Good!” Sam says.

A few students have gathered around Sam, holding their notebooks to their chest.

“Excuse me, Mr. Winchester?” a lanky boy chimes in.

“Hey! Just a sec,” Sam replies. He turns to Dean. “I’ve gotta - “

“Yeah no worries,” Dean replies. “We’ll catch you later.”

Sam flashes him a warm smile.

“You guys have questions?” Sam says to the group.

Dean, Cas, and Eileen succumb to the flow of the crowd. They find themselves back in the alleyway, outside the bar.

“You and Sam’ve got quite the operation here,” Dean says.

“It’s not just us. We have a whole team of ex-hunters,” Eileen replies.

“Do you teach as well?” Cas asks.

“I took on a few lectures, but I’m in charge of the training sessions,” Eileen says. She karate-chops the air.

“Well, these kids couldn’t ask for better,” Dean says.

“I should help Sam pack up. Meet you in a bit?” Eileen says.

“We’ll be here,” Cas says.

Eileen slips back behind the metal door, leaving Cas and Dean alone in the alley, save for a few students milling around on the sidewalk. One of the people approaches them. He’s older than the others, and has black hair.

“Hey,” he says. “Are you Dean Winchester?”

Dean looks at him with suspicion. Something’s off about this guy.

“Maybe,” Dean replies, “What’s it to ya?”

“I was wondering if you could tell me… where I can get a bite to eat.”

His eyes flash a sickly green, and opens his mouth to reveal rows of pointed teeth. Dirty claws extend from his fingertips. Dean’s eyes widen. 

“Dean!” Cas yells, instinctively jumping in front of him.

But he doesn’t need to. In an instant, a silver blade emerges through the werewolf’s chest. He chokes. Blood drips from his fanged mouth and the life drains from his eyes. The blade retracts, and he falls to his knees, revealing a person standing behind him - the frizzy-haired girl from Sam’s class. She looks absolutely thrilled. Her bloody hands cradle the blade to her chest.

“Oh my god, is he dead?” she asks.

“Yeah, he’s dead,” Dean says breathlessly.

The metal door opens and Sam and Eileen come out, chatting and blissfully unaware. They see the body on the floor. Their faces drop.

“What the hell happened here?” Sam asks.

“Werewolf,” Dean replies.

“Your student killed him. She saved us,” Cas says.

Sam looks up at his student. He points at her inquisitively, and a smile grows on his face, and transforms into a wide grin.

“Well done!” Sam says.

She beams.

\---

After disposing of the werewolf’s body, they’re on the road. They arrive at the bunker in their separate cars - Sam and Eilene following behind the impala. Keys jangle, doors creak open and slam shut. They make their way to the front door of the bunker. As Sam fits the key in the door, a faint light emits from Dean’s amulet. Dean doesn’t notice at first, but he does notice Cas, looking nervously at his chest. Dean looks down and sees that the amulet is glowing. 

“Is Jack here?” Dean asks. Before Sam has a chance to respond, Dean shoves him out of his way and marches way inside. The amulet glows brighter. Dean makes his way onto the balcony. He clasps the railing and looks down. 

Jack stands below, raising a hand in greeting.

“Hello Dean!” Jack calls out.

But Jack isn’t alone. At the far end of the room, Charlie leans on a bookcase, next to Jodie and Donna. At the table, Claire, Patience, Alex, Kaia, and Jack sit around a smattering of playing cards. And of course, Miracle is there, barking like mad.

“Hey, the guys are here!!!” Charlie says, bouncing up and down.

“‘Sup Dean,” Claire says.

“Sam you son of a bitch,” Dean says affectionately. 

Dean rushes down the stairs to greet everyone. He is bombarded by hugs and smiles and pats on the back, not to mention the paws of an attention-seeking dog. It’s chaotic and overwhelming. Dean is overjoyed.

“Jack you ruined the surprise!” Sam says, tramping down the stairs. Cas and Eileen follow like ducklings.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Dean says, ruffling Jack’s hair. “Sam, you planned this?”

“Cas let it slip that you were coming to surprise Sam today,” Eileen says. Cas looks at his shoes. Dean shoves him playfully.

“I obviously had to one-up you,” Sam says. 

Dean looks at Sam, and for a brief moment, his obnoxious little brother pokes through the facade of an overgrown, adult man. But it fades. Dean pulls Sam into a tight hug. He balls up his fists and presses his face into Sam’s shoulder. He pulls away, but keeps his hand clasped on Sam’s arm.

“You did good, Sammy,” Dean says. His chest is full of pride, and it shows on his face.

“Hey - no chick-flick moments, right?” Sam says.

“Woah now, don’t diss chick-flicks - you ever see Titanic?” Dean says.

“I haven’t,” Sam says, taken aback. “Have you?”

“She goes back to save him while the ship is sinking!” Dean says. Sam raises his eyebrows and smirks. Dean clears his throat.

“It’s very engaging,” Cas adds. Sam laughs.

“Dean, come play poker with us!” Claire says. Alex rattles the poker chips in her hand while Patience fans herself with a hand of cards.

“Don’t do it,” Jack mutters. “I already owe them over 100 dollars.”

“If Patience didn’t cheat…” Kaia says.

“I don’t cheat!” Patience protests. “You have a bad poker face.”

“I have an excellent poker face,” Cas says, striding forward. “I will avenge you, Jack.”

“Nah, I can take this - Jack’s gotta learn from the master,” Dean says.

“Hold your horses fellas!” Donna chimes in. “Don’t wanna miss out on the pizza, do ya?”

Dean’s ears perk up. There’s a smell in the room - he should have known. Jodie retrieves a stack of pizza boxes from a chair and plops them on the table.

“Help yourself,” Jodie says.

“You’re on your own kid,” Dean tells Jack. In the blink of an eye, the top box is flipped open and Dean is munching on a slice.

“Hey, don’t hog the ‘za,” Charlie says.

Dean slides the box across the table. The rest of the group dig in. Jodie passes out paper plates, which most of the kids forgo, including Dean. Sam blots the top of the pizza with a napkin. Cas sees him do this and picks up a napkin to copy him, but Dean stops him - placing a hand on his arm and wagging his finger. Claire gets sauce on her face, which Kaia laughs at, so Claire smears sauce on her face in retribution. The other girls laugh, at which Kaia holds up her slice of pizza threateningly. Donna and Jodie don’t mind them - they, along with Eileen, are caught up in a story Charlie tells, about a shifter who transformed to look like Sarah Michelle Gellar.

Dean looks around at them. He feels happy, but not in the way that he used to in these situations. He doesn’t think about death. He doesn’t think about loss. He doesn’t even think about what he needs to do next. He just exists in the moment. He’s got a pizza slice in hand, he’s surrounded by his family, and he is happy.

Jack doesn’t join them. He doesn’t need to eat, so he stands off to the side, inspecting the objects on the shelves. Cas notices him alone. He places his plate on the table, and goes over to him.

“How is Heaven?” Cas asks.

“Beautiful, and complicated,” Jack says. “Earth?”

“‘On Earth as it is in Heaven’,” Cas recites, looking off at Dean. “How are you?”

“Tired,” Jack replies. “My work isn’t easy. But this makes it worthwhile.”

“This is all thanks to you, y’know,” Cas says. 

“I know,” Jack says with a smile. “Dean was a victim of his own heroism. The hero of a story that demanded a tragic end. I had to circumvent that.”

“Can’t end the story, end the medium,” Cas says.

“Change the medium,” Jack corrects him. “Not a story, but a life. Self-determination.”

“Ironic that his, our, ability to self-determine was brought about by a mistake.”

“You mean the computer virus?” Jack laughs.

“I do.”

“Cas, I’m God,” Jack says. “I don’t make mistakes.” 

Cas snaps his head around to look at Jack. Jack’s eyes twinkle.

“You lied,” Cas says.

“Not exactly,” Jack says. “I did download malware on an ancient object manifesting itself as a computer. It was just… intentional.”

“Why say it was an accident?”

“To keep up appearances,” Jack says. “In reality, I am God. I am omniscient and omnipresent and unimaginably powerful. But here, with you guys, I’m just… Jack.”

Cas scoffs, and a smile appears on his face. He puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“You have a home here, with us, if Heaven ever gets to be too much,” Cas says.

Jack nods.

“Likewise,” Jack says. “In due time.”

At the table, the others finish their pizza. The girls return to their game of poker. They beg Eileen to join them, but Eileen knows better.

“Have you ever played Egyptian rat-screw?” Eileen says. They shake their heads.

“You better watch out,” Sam says. “My hand still hurts from the last time we played.”

“Oh I love that game! Can I join in?” asks Jodie.

“Sure!” says Eileen.

“It’s all about reaction time, girls,” Jodie explains. “Donna, you playing?”

“Oh, I don’t know... I’m about as slow as molasses in January.” 

The girls groan.

“You’ll be fine,” Jodie says. “Get your butt over here.”

“Dean?” Sam says.

Dean chews like a cow, with his eyes half-lidded, and his arms extended on the table.

“Can’t,” Dean says, pointing at his belly. “Digesting.”

“Why don’t we go walk it off,” Charlie says. “C’mon, dude.”

“So much cheese…” Dean groans.

Charlie links arms with Dean, and guides him to his feet. They walk arm-in-arm through the library, all the way to where the telescope sits. It’s just far enough to be out of earshot from the rest of the group. They sit on the steps.

“You did it,” Charlie says.

“5 slices is nothing - I can do triple that if you give me more time.”

“I mean you and Cas. Living together, being together...”

“Oh, yeah. We’re a regular Bert and Ernie,” Dean says.

“What’s that like?”

“He’s a weirdo,” Dean says affectionately. “He’s getting the hang of the human thing, though.”

“I mean for you.”

From the main room come the sounds of squealing laughter and hands pounding on the table. Dean fiddles with the button on his jacket sleeve.

“It doesn’t feel real,” Dean says. “Sometimes I tell him I love him just to hear him say it back. Just to make sure.”

“That's what it's like, when you get something you never thought you could have.”

Dean stares at his shoes, embarrassed to have revealed so much.

“The feeling goes away, eventually,” she adds.

“It’s not a bad feeling,” Dean says. “When I wake up in the morning, I expect to be alone. But there he is.”

“Sleeping like an angel, right?” Charlie adds.

“No way - he snores,” Dean says. Charlie laughs.

Footsteps. Dean looks up. Sam walks towards them.

“I lost,” Sam says.

“How’d that happen?” Charlie asks.

Sam shrugs. In the other room, there’s a bang, followed by the sound of Eileen cheering.

“The game is almost over,” Sam says. “Dean, how’s your stomach?”

“It’s seen better days.”

“You have room for dessert?”

Charlie gasps. She covers her mouth.

“…Sure,” Dean says, eyeing her. “What’s for dessert?”

“You’ll see,” Sam says.

Sam trots back to the main room, and harshly whispers something to the others. Dean and Charlie lag behind.

“Who won?” Dean asks.

“Who else,” Eileen says with a cheeky grin.

“I was close!” Jack says.

“Cas kept slapping the deck every time,” Claire laughs.

“I’m… still not sure I understand the rules of the game,” Cas says.

Dean takes a seat at the head of the table, next to Cas. He notices that Sam is no longer in the room with them.

“Where’d Sam go?”

“He’s getting dessert,” Cas says. 

“What exactly is he getting?”

“We decided to bake - “ Jack starts.

“Jack!” Claire interrupts.

“Sam is gonna be back in two seconds anyway,” Jack argues.

“Then shush for two seconds!”

“Why are they being so weird?” Dean mutters to Cas.

“Today is the one-year anniversary of your near-death experience,” Cas says.

“Which one?”

“The one a year ago,” Donna chimes in.

“Thanks, Donna,” Dean says.

“It’s been a year since you were liberated from your narrative confines,” Jack explains.

“Whatever that means,” Jodie remarks.

“We wanted to do something special to celebrate,” Cas continues, taking Dean’s hand under the table.

“Wow, you guys are all awful at surprises,” Eileen laughs.

“You guys are making me nervous,” Dean says. “What’s the surprise?”

Dean is answered by a smell. It weaves through the corridor, and embraces Dean before it’s source even enters the room. Dean recognizes the feeling the smell gives him before he even realizes what it is. It’s the same feeling he got when his mother’s mitted hands would open the oven, and he would be caressed by that wave of warm air. And that memory is what would comfort him when he and Sam found themselves at a dinner at the end of a long day, bruised and beaten-down, blood still caked under their fingernails. But Dean almost doesn’t recognize it, because, though the feeling it gives him is the same as it always was, this time it doesn’t conjure the memory of his mother. Instead, it’s the sight of his brother, setting the warm pie down on the table. It’s the feeling of Cas’ hand holding his own. And, at last, the thought of family is not a far-off dream, shielded behind time like a precious jewel in a glass case. It’s present in that moment, in the slice of pie sitting before him, and the people gathered around him.

Dean takes a bite.

**Author's Note:**

> Epilogue coming soon
> 
> Thanks for reading omg I love you


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